Relapse
by MoonDrop162
Summary: It's like a drug. It's like a disease. It's so addictive, and it kills you slowly. Samantha had worked for two years to put the Hunt behind her, but when Dean shows up in the middle of the night...? Fem!Sam. Based off pilot episode. Rated M for language.
1. No Rest for the Wicked

**Hey, chickadees! This is my first fanfic, ever. I was just sitting around one day, watching Supernatural when I thought of how much funnier some of the hilarious moments could be if Sam was a girl, and that sparked my desire to write this. I hope you all can enjoy this is much as I am! Please leave me reviews with your thoughts on what you like/didn't like, but be courteous about it. Constructive criticism works so much better than just putting someone on blast.**

**This piece of writing is based off of the original pilot episode of Supernatural, a few creative tweaks. Some dialogue from the episode and another version pilot episode's script were taken, but not 100% of it. **

**Anyhoo, read on, chickadees! **

**Your friendly neighbor, Moondrop162.**

_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any part of Supernatural, despite my most fervent prayers. I don't take any credit for the show or characters that show up in this piece of fiction. I am merely writing for my own enjoyment, as well as that of my muse. Let's get started, shall we?**_

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><p>There weren't many things that scared Samantha Winchester anymore. After she knew first-hand what went bump in the night, spiders, bad hair days, her college midterms, awkward confrontations, and not getting a boy she wanted stopped making her stomach churn. Hell, they just plain made her bored. And tired. She didn't see why so much energy had to be spent on worrying about pointless things when she'd almost died countless times at the hands of an angry poltergeist or werewolf.<p>

So, when she heard the sound of someone sneaking around in her home, she started awake more with annoyance and a feeling of calculating coldness than fear. Her brother and father had taught her how to fight hand-to-hand combat, and though she didn't get the everyday rigorous practice she'd had with her older brother Dean, she kept up as best she could with her busy schedule by stopping by a dojo every now and then. So, that being said, she wasn't worried that she was in danger of being hurt. No, Sam could handle herself. She was pissed because tonight she finally hadn't had any nightmares and had been getting some much-needed sleep, and this… _asshole_ had the gall to come into _her_ home and wake _her_ up. Of all people, this dipshit had to choose a

Winchester. Any pain following was totally justified in Sam's mind.

Without making a sound she slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her partner, and didn't even spare him a glance as she slipped out the bedroom door. Sam hugged the walls, staying in the shadows, waiting for a sign of the intruder's presence. She peered into the bathroom from her hiding place and noticed the window was open, the shade blowing slightly in the breeze. She scowled. At least he hadn't broken her window; she would have reamed his ass if there was damage to her home. She didn't have the money for this shit.

A shadow moved across a doorway and Sam hushed her thoughts, slinking from her place by the wall to behind the door the shadow had been heading for, the floorboards creaking beyond. She pressed herself as close to the wall as she could and waited. She knew her home, knew which boards to skip over so as to stay completely silent. This stranger did not, and she heard more than saw him walk through the doorway and out into the living room. He was about six feet tall, and Sam felt a little wary being only five-nine herself, but her confidence never wavered.

Once the man was in open space she lunged, balling her fist and throwing it for the back of his head. Catching her totally off-guard, the guy turned around and caught her arm, twisting it behind her back. She bit her lip as she started to yelp at the unexpected pain, but she couldn't help the small squeak, and as soon as it filled the silence like a foghorn, the intruder lessened the pressure on her arm. Sam took the opportunity and yanked herself out from his grasp and spun around, going for another punch, this time in his stomach. The guy smoothly caught her fist in his hand and pulled her around until the positions had switched and shoved her harshly on the shoulders, sending her reeling back into the next room. Damn, this wasn't supposed to be what was happening. She never counted on the guy actually knowing how to fight _back_. And not only could he fight, he was good at it… maybe better than she was. Fuck.

The stranger stalked towards her into the room, but she was already balanced on her feet again. She backed up and turned so that she had the wall to her back a few feet behind her instead of the couch and windows, and crouched defensively. The guy stopped two feet away from her, and Sam just stood there, watching him. Pale light from the windows gave her little help in actually seeing the man, but it didn't matter. This would be over soon, one way or another.

She aimed for his face, which he easily blocked, knocking her arm away and leaving her completely exposed to the punch _he_ sent that connected with her cheek. She took a few steps back from the impact. The light from the outside was shit for seeing his face, but Sam had noticed how the fist coming towards her slowed before it hit her cheek to lessen the blow. Damn prick was going soft on her. Now this was personal, and Sam was out for blood. She righted herself and sent him a glare that he couldn't see but, admittedly, made her feel a bit better.

She quickly kicked up with her right foot, hoping to hit his chin, and she almost did, but the guy ducked out of the way at the last moment. She felt a sliver of dismay and the first shred of concern when her kick didn't land with skin, but instead fell back to the floor. She had always been fast. Very fast. She'd been hoping to catch him off-guard with her speed, but he had dodged her nonetheless. The only person she had ever met who could dodge her speed was… no… it couldn't be.

Sam didn't have time to think as another punch was headed for her face. Instinctively she brought up her arm to stop the blow but the guy got her gut instead. She 'oofed' and bent forward out of reflex, giving the man the opportunity to wrap his arm around her neck and whirl her around and to the ground like a ragdoll. His knee pressed gently but firmly on her hips, pinning her legs, and a hand gripped her neck. His other hand held her right fist to his chest, and Sam's left hand clung to the arm gripping her neck. She panted, fatigued from the unexpected workout, and closed her eyes in defeat. Her cheek and stomach ached and her brain felt slow, like it had been left behind where she'd been standing before she'd been flung to the floor.

'_So much for keeping up with practice…'_ she thought ruefully. Her eyes snapped open when she heard a voice she would know anywhere. A voice that was low and husky, and reminded her of cheap motels, cheaper alcohol, and even cheaper food. A voice that was both comforting and frightening. She had heard it both soft and gentle, to ease away the nightmares, and barking out orders, leaving her no room for any argument.

"Whoa, easy sunshine!" Sam's eye's turned incredulous as she strained to use the barely-there lighting to try and make out the face. All she could get were the twinkles in his eyes.

"_Dean?"_ Sam's voice sounded strange to her own ears. Angry, hopeful, confused, sad, and overjoyed… she couldn't tell which. Her older brother chuckled. The grip on her neck loosened and the leg on her hips disappeared. Any doubts she'd had left flew out the window at that chuckle. "You scared the crap outta me!"

"That's 'cause you're outta practice." His voice sounded smug and arrogant, and sparked Sam's anger. She used the hand against his chest and the grip on his arm to roll him over her and hooked her leg under his and brought his knee up to his chest, using his own weight to keep him anchored to the floor. Dean released her hand and brought his up to his leg as he laughed.

"Or not," he said with a laugh, "get off me." She felt better, having proven herself and released him, scrambling up to her feet and using her grip on his arm to pull him up. He brushed imaginary dirt off his jacket as annoyance and confusion settled over Sam. Two years, two long years she had gone without any contact from either her dad or her brother, and here he shows up out of the blue? She had a life here, what the hell was he expecting from her, just barging in like this? She was done with that life, she'd gotten herself out before she died either at the hands of a monster or her own personal demons, and she was happy here. Him being here after two years of silence could mean nothing good for her.

Sam scowled and put her fists on her hips. "Dean, what the hell are you _doing_ here?"

"Well, I _was_ looking for a beer." His hand came up and ruffled her hair in that too-familiar way that he'd done so often before when she had needed consolation and John had never been around. It made her uncomfortable for Dean to do that after their falling out, like nothing had happened. She slapped his hand away and huffed in frustration.

"What the _hell_ are you _doing_ here?" She repeated her question. She heard Dean exhale slightly before answering.

"Okay, alright. We gotta talk." Sam rolled her eyes; she didn't have the patience for Dean to beat around the bush, not tonight.

"Uh, the phone?" She knew her tone was brusque and rude, and she felt a little bad. It wasn't as if Dean has been the one to kick her out of the family, and honestly, she understood why he never came after her. He always listened to their father, no matter what the order, and always protected his little sister in whatever way was best for her. If she felt leaving had been the best thing for her to do, and he believed that being a Hunter was really killing her, then he would have done all he could to stick to her wishes and keep her from being involved with him and his… "job".

"If I'd'a called, would you've picked up?" His voice wasn't laughing anymore. No, it was quiet and carefully lacking emotion. She knew this tone. This was the tone he used with strangers and girls he picked up at bars. The tone he even had used for their dad a few times… but never on her. It was his guarded tone he fell back on when he wasn't comfortable showing his pain or concern or any other emotion he felt made him seem weak. Her shame increased. She had hurt Dean by leaving, and it didn't sound like these past two years had done much to help. Dean had always been her best friend before she left, and it hurt to know that she had caused him pain like that. The memory of his heartbroken face as her bus for California pulled away would haunt her forever.

She answered his question with silence. No, she wouldn't have picked up the phone if Dean had called her, but she didn't want to say that out loud. It felt dirty and wrong.

Before anything else could be said, the light in the room clicked on as her boyfriend Roger stood blearily in the doorway.

"Sam?" He slurred. Both her and Dean turned their attention to the brunette man that was slightly taller than her brother. Sam bit her lip worriedly and glanced over at Dean, groaning internally. She'd forgotten all about Roger in the heat of the moment, and if the glare on Dean's face was anything to go by, Roger was now on Dean's blacklist.

"Roger, hey. Uh…" Sam turned her attention to Dean (who was still glaring at a sleepy Roger) and shifted her feet awkwardly. "Dean, this is my boyfriend, Roger."

It took Roger a moment before his eyes opened wider, incredulous.

"Wait, your _brother_ Dean?" Ah yes, Sam's past estrangement from her family was common knowledge among her friends. Roger had tried, in the beginning, to get answers from her, but after three months of less than nothing he got the message: leave it alone. He hadn't brought up Dean or her dad much for a while now, but Sam knew that he worried about her connection to them often. Roger smiled slightly and Sam had to draw on her impressive reserves of self-control not to flinch and look away from Roger. Only moments before she had been attacking Dean with the intent to cause him pain, and had spent the last two years pretending like him and her dad didn't exist. And Roger, having always wanted to meet her family, was happy Dean was here. He probably thought that Sam's brother was here to mend bridges. Fat chance of that happening anytime soon. Dean would never ask her to come back; he wouldn't want to admit he missed her, and he most likely felt he was protecting her by keeping her out, which brought her back to the thought that it couldn't be a good reason Dean was here.

"Nice boxers." Dean smiled at Roger in what anyone else would see as charming, but Sam could still read her brother like a book it seemed; he was mocking Roger. She glanced at her boyfriend's choice of sleep attire and closed her eyes. Oh boy. "I love the Smurfs."

It was apparent to Sam that her brother didn't like Roger; probably had something to do with him being so freakishly over-protective, but Roger didn't seem to notice. If he did, then he didn't seem to mind. No, Roger just smiled at Dean, possibly at Dean, obviously thinking he was making polite conversation. Sam knew better. The subtle sarcasm in Dean's voice had told her loud and clear that he was mocking her boyfriend for his childish and ridiculous choice of pajamas. Plus, Sam had a very distinct memory of Dean throwing a TV clicker at her face and screaming at her to, _"turn that shit off"_ when she had turned the Smurfs on some nameless day in some nameless motel of her childhood. Her dad, of course, had been gone.

"Thanks, Dean." Dean smirked and nodded, turning back to Sam. He hadn't changed one bit since Sam had seen him last. His dirty blonde hair was still short and spikey, and his light green eyes were still deep and full of emotion, hidden behind the masks and shells of arrogance, sarcasm and stubbornness he had built for himself. But they had always spoken more to Sam of her brother's emotions and thoughts than words ever could have, and she was kind of glad that he was so open to her. With the things said at that last fight between Sam and her dad… she wouldn't have been surprised if Dean hadn't opened up to her ever again.

"Sure. Well, anyway, I gotta borrow your… _girlfriend_, here, and talk about some private family business but uh… nice meeting _you_." Sam frowned. Dean has almost choked on the word "girlfriend" and she knew he thought it was anything but nice to meet Roger. Poor Roger didn't even know he was being made fun of. This thought made her angry, and rightfully so. Her brother broke into her home, beat her up, and decided he gets to make fun of her boyfriend? No.

"No." Sam muttered softly. Dean's smirk fell from his face as Sam walked over to stand next to Roger, who placed his arm around her shoulders. "No, whatever you wanna say, you can say it in front of him."

Dean stared at Sam and the hand on her shoulder for a moment before turning to face the couple and answering. "Okay. Umm…" he hesitated for a moment before looking Sam dead in the eyes, "Dad hasn't been home in a few days." Sam scoffed. This was nothing new, and frankly was a piss-poor excuse for Dean to use to come see her. At God-only-knows-what-hour-in-the-morning, the least he could do is fucking admit that he missed her.

"So he's working overtime on a Miller Time shift, he'll stumble back in sooner or later." Sam let the bitterness seep into her voice, meeting Dean's glare. Dean lowered his eyes and shook his head, catching the reference she made to a brand of beer and how much their father drank himself unconscious. He brought his eyes up and a new steely glint shone out from them.

"Dad's on a _hunting_ trip… and he hasn't been home in a few days." Silence. Sam's mind went blank. She could feel Roger's eyes on her, curious and worried, as she struggled to process what that meant. It meant that her dad had missed the promised return date by enough time to make Dean worried, and that meant that something was _keeping_ her dad from coming back. Something supernatural. Her dad was a legend of a Hunter, and the paranormal had done something to him. Sam gulped.

"Roger, excuse us. We have to go outside." Roger nodded silently but stared at her and Dean for a moment longer before heading back to bed. Sam walked into the living room and grabbed some clothes out from the basket of clean laundry she'd just folded that morning and walked to the bathroom. "Give me two minutes." She tried not to notice that her hands shook when she pulled her pants on.

She glanced in the mirror out of reflex before she left the bathroom. Her straight brown hair was pulled in a messy ponytail, and many wisps had escaped in the excitement of attacking her brother. Her hazel blue eyes were wide with concern and what she could only name as fear. Yes, she was pissed at her dad and there was some shit her had put both her and Dean through that she wasn't ready to forgive just yet, but she still loved the bastard. Her was her father, after all. The only one on this earth she could point out as her parent. By all rights, Dean was as much her _dad_ as he was her brother for all that he had raised her while their dad was away, but John Winchester would always be her _father_. No amount of anger was going to change that. Samantha had never gotten to know her mother; she'd died on the day Sam turned six months old, and trying to remember anything from that young was pointlessly stupid. No, all she had of her mother was the picture on her nightstand where her parents cradled little baby Sammy in their arms, smiling. Well, that and the stories Dean and had told her, but those too were limited as Dean had only been four when she'd died.

Her small and slender eyebrows furrowed in a frown, and she was biting her bottom lip again. It was a nervous habit of hers that apparently she'd inherited from her mom. Something else she had of her mom, Sam supposed grimly. Her cheeks were dusted with a light natural blush, and for the most part, her skin was unblemished on her face. She'd been lucky and puberty had never given her problems with acne. Sam huffed a breath, puffing out her cheeks and opened the door, pulling the tie out of her hair and letting it fall down past her shoulders.

Sam used her hands as a makeshift brushed and pulled all the unruly wisps back into another secure ponytail, and walked over to where Dean stood. He was in the exact same spot where he'd been talking to her earlier, and his eyes were looking down at the floor. He seemed to be lost in thought.

Sam grinned mischievously as an idea popped into her head, and she silently moved toward him, slowing her pace to keep from drawing his attention. She didn't stop until she had crept behind Dean and a little to the side of him. He still hadn't looked up, and she took the chance to stand up on her toes and get her mouth next to his ear. She drew in a slow, silent breath and waited a heartbeat before blowing it all out in a rush into his ear.

Dean jumped and simultaneously ducked his head and brought his hands up to swat at his ear. Sam snorted and tried to cover it up as a cough, but Dean knew better and spun around, glaring at her.

"Samantha… What. The. Hell." She rolled her eyes. Dean could be such a drama queen sometimes.

"Don't call me Samantha. And it was payback for you breaking and entering into my home, so I was entirely justified." Dean scowled at her, and she waited for the retort that he would need to throw at her; he always had to have the last word. Instead, and much to her surprise, he merely shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets and walked toward the front door. His voice drifted back to her, stiff and annoyed, as he stalked away, not looking back to see if she'd follow.

"C'mon Sam."

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><p><strong>And there you have it. Chapter one. I had to watch that actual fight scene in the episode upwards of ten times to get it right. They just HAD to fight in the dark, didn't they?<strong>

**Please R&R, but courteously!**

**Loves!**

**MoonDrop162**


	2. The Apple Pie Life

**Heya, chickadees! Just as a side note that I forgot to put in last chapter, I'm basing Samantha off of Ellen Page. I think she is a realistic possibility for what Sam would have been like if he had been born a she. But that's just my personal opinion. Just for reference, to get a perfect picture in your head! (:**

**Any thoughts so far? Please tell me how I'm doing with Sam and Dean and their portrayals in this fanfic. Much appreciated!**

**Loves!**

**Your friendly MD.**

**_DISCLAIMER: I do not own any part of Supernatural. The plot belongs to the brilliant writers that have kept us hooked on Dean and Sam for so long. Original dialogue from the Pilot episode was used, as well as from a script that was discarded, and I filled in the rest with my own dialogue. No copyright infringments were meant, this is just my take on things._**

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><p>"What the hell do you mean you can't go?" Dean growled, stomping down the stairs. Sam's anger flared at her brother for his lack of respect for the other people they were more than likely disturbing and his indignance with her. What did he expect, he comes crashing back (at the worst possible time, mind you) into her life and she'll just drop it for a Hunt? No, it doesn't work like that! She has things that she is doing, with her life, right now. Like that interview on Monday to see if she actually has the stuff to make it here in law school. She has a test to study for on Tuesday, and her and Roger had plans for this weekend. She couldn't just pause her life because Dean climbed through her window.<p>

"I mean, c'mon, you can't just _break in_, in the middle of the night, and expect me to just hit the road with you!" Sam trailed after Dean, glaring at the back of his head, her anger at her brother growing. This was getting ridiculous. Sam was tired, she was cranky, and her muscles were sore from being worked that hard in so long. Her visits to the dojo weren't exactly regular.

Dean shook his head at her and looked at her over his shoulder when he reached the landing. Sam stubbornly held his gaze. "You're not hearing me, Sammy. Dad's missing. I need you to help me find him."

She knew that Dean was right about their dad, but she didn't want to leave. She was scared. She'd been out of the game for two years, and despite all her attempts otherwise, she was rusty. She wasn't a part of this scene anymore, and Dean was not going to ruin her life to try and get help to clean up her dad's mess.

"You remember the poltergeist in Annehurst? Or the devil's gates in Cliffton? He was missing then too. He's _always_ missing, and he's _always_ fine." Dean stopped as he reached the bottom and turned to look at Sam. At her place on the staircase, she was just above Dean's eye level and stared him down. She was not going to budge this time. Dean had no right.

"Not this long. Now are you gonna come with me or not?" Sam straightened her back and put her fists on her hips again.

"I'm not." Dean looked dubious, like Sam had just told him the sky was orange and he had a bunny's tail.

"Why not?" Sam jutted her chin out. Time to set him straight. Now, or never.

"I swore I was done Hunting. For good." Dean rolled his eyes and started to turn away to leave.

"C'mon. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't _that_ bad." His voice sounded gruff and petulant. Oh no, he was not going to make her feel bad for taking control of her life and being independent. Sam had a right to choose what she did with her time, and running off to bad food and itchy sheets in sketchy motel rooms was not how she wanted to spend a second of her life anymore.

"Oh yeah? When I told Dad I was scared of the thing in my closet, he gave me a .45." Sam could hear the bitterness in her voice again and tried to rein it in. She was angry at her father, not her brother. She mostly understood why her brother acted the way he did, and he had always been there for her. Dean had never broken a promise to Sam, and had always protected her unconditionally. Dean had sacrificed more for his little sister than she thought people knew how to, and she loved him more than anyone on the planet for it. She was angry and offended at her brother for trying to turn everything upside down, but her love for him was endless. She didn't need to lash out at _Dean_ because her dad wasn't around to take the brunt of her anger.

Dean stopped at the door to the building and turned to Sam, half of his face in shadow, and his green eyes practically glowing from the light seeping in. "Well, what was he supposed to do?" Dean didn't sound annoyed anymore so much as just tired. Sam understood that too. The stress of being a Hunter plus worry for John was draining Dean. She felt for her brother and wanted to make him feel better, but the only thing that would make that happen would be if she changed her mind. Sam was not about to do that any time soon.

"I was nine years old! He was supposed to say, 'Don't be afraid of the dark.'" Dean scoffed and shook his head at Sam, obviously not believing what he'd just heard.

"Don't be afraid of the dark, what are you kidding me? Of course you should be afraid of the dark! You know what's out there, you should be friggin' terrified!" Sam shook her head impatiently.

"That's not the point. I was just a little girl, Dean, and I wanted my dad to comfort me and take away my fear, not give me a gun to shoot. Do you realize how screwed up our lives were after Mom died? Dad's obsession to find the damn thing that killed her has yet to pay off, as far as I'm concerned, so we learned how to kill everything else that we can!" Sam took a steadying breath, trying desperately to calm down. It was really hard. Dean was poking around at old wounds and grudges Sam hadn't been able to move on from yet. He was stirring up bad memories for her, and despite all her best efforts to channel her anger somewhere else, it was pointed strictly at her brother. Sam's voice had been rising, and she knew this wasn't the best place for an argument, but Dean was just so fucking stubborn, and dammit, why didn't he understand that this isn't what she had wanted out of her life? She didn't ask to know how to manufacture silver bullets, or fire everything from a sawed-off shotgun to the aforementioned .45. She didn't want this paranoia in the back of her mind every second of every day that maybe there was a shifter or ghost of some sort that would pop up in her life out of nowhere and turn everything she'd built to shit. Why didn't he _understand_?

"We save a lot of people doing it, too." Sam laughed a sour, humorless laugh at Dean's blind loyalty to their father and his mission in life. That was the one thing Sam would never comprehend about her brother: the blind loyalty Dean had for their father. She had no idea where it came from, or why he followed all of John's orders without question, but she knew that it was the reason their dad had always given Dean the trust and the praise. Sam could count the times she'd been given signs of approval from their father on one hand. All of their arguments, however, could fill a book.

Sam suddenly had an irrational desire to make her brother angry. She'd tried so hard to keep her head down and obey her dad, but nothing she had done had ever felt good enough. Dean had done the same as her and what did it get him? Put on a fucking pedestal, that's what. Their dad treated Dean like a _Hunter_, and Sam got treated like a goddamned disaster waiting to happen. It had always been one thing or another with her dad. She didn't listen to his order and did something wrong, she didn't react fast enough and someone innocent got hurt, she missed important clues and was too slow to grasp what they were hunting. Sam had pushed herself to the breaking point to improve, and even after it paid off and Sam's brain started to become the brightest of all three of them, all she'd ever been was a disappointment. And Dean… Dean got all the love. Sam was pissed and indignant and wanted to see him just as angry as she felt. She wanted the annoying-as-shit walls torn down so he couldn't fucking hide from his own emotions anymore. She wanted to lash out.

Sam deadpanned Dean with a cold stare and kept her voice low, even as it dripped with ice. "You think _Mom_ would have wanted this for us?"

Success. Dean froze for a moment before his face grew dark and furious. Sam knew that bringing their mom up in conversations was risky at best, and bringing her up in an argument was downright taboo. She had crossed a line and gone for an old wound that she knew damn well wasn't healed.

Dean slammed the screen door open so hard that it bounced off the brick wall and shook in its frame, slowly drifting to close again, and stormed out of the building off to the right. Sam took a few steadying breaths, and found it was easier to calm down now that her brother was out of sight. Jealousy was an ugly thing, and she had always been jealous of the way their father treated Dean. She was still jealous, really. But, as her anger cooled down enough for rational thought take over once more, Sam realized what she had done and wiped a hand over her face. That question had been worse than this argument warranted, and slicing at a part of him that was still bruised was low. Sam felt guilty, but used that guilt to strengthen her resolve. If she went with Dean, they'd spend the whole time fighting like this, and their already-brittle relationship would snap and break.

Sam followed Dean out the door and walked to the right and up the steps where she saw Dean's 1967 Chevy Impala sitting under the flood light, glistening and looking completely like home. Sam almost staggered at the sharp pang in her chest when she saw the car. She hadn't realized that there would be something other than Dean that she would miss so much, but now that she knew, it made sense. There were a lot of good memories she had associated with that car, and it made her feel wistful to fall asleep to the subtle purr of the engine on a no-name highway in some back-country part of a state she couldn't remember passing through. Sam forced herself out of her reverie when she realized that Dean was standing at the top of the stairs, facing the car, and refusing to look at her.

She cautiously moved toward him and stood there for a little while, silent. His arms hung limply at his sides, and he was hunched forward, like he was trying to hide from something. His body told her he was so exhausted he could barely stand, but when she looked at his face, she saw none of that fatigue. Only hurt, and anger, and betrayal. For bringing up their mom or for refusing to help, Sam wasn't sure which, but she suspected it could be both.

Sam wasn't quite sure what to do. She couldn't grab his hand like she'd done so often in the past after Dean came back from a Hunt where he'd seen too much to handle. Besides, if she touched him he was liable to start swinging again, and likely wouldn't do much to lessen the force of his blows this time. Her brother's anger had always been the violent sort. Normally, he was able to aim it at the supernatural beasts they Hunted, things they were already trying to kill, but it was Sam's fault he was so furious this time, and if she tried to comfort him after _that_, his already tenuous control over himself would undoubtedly vanish. Even so, Sam couldn't just completely leave it alone. The guilt was beginning gnaw at her lungs, and she needed to offer up some semblance of peace.

"Dean, I… Sorry." It was lame, and pathetic, and her whispered voice cracked on his name, because she was terrified that he might not forgive her this time, but it was all she had to give him. Enough time had been spent away from each other that Sam feared she really didn't know him as well as she used to, and that she had pushed him too far. Sam chewed on her bottom lip as she looked up at her big brother. She hadn't thought about that. Dean had forgiven her in the past, no matter what the transgression, but that was then. Maybe she'd gone too far after being away for solong, and he wouldn't just let it go like he always had before. Sam did her best to hide her worry behind her resolve to say no, but even _she_ couldn't ignore that.

Dean looked down at her, and she could see the violent anger was still there, but it was being pushed back. He rolled his shoulders and twitched his lips in an acknowledgement of her apology. Relief and shame settled in her stomach like a stone. Dean had accepted she was sorry, but it looked like it was too soon for him to completely forgive her. It's like they were walking on eggshells with each other.

Dean turned and started walking towards the trunk of his precious car and picked up their conversation like she'd never said anything. It was so typical of him to shove any uncomfortable confrontation away from the limelight, but this time, Sam found herself glad for the reprieve from that tension.

"So what're you gonna do? You just gonna live some normal, apple pie life? Is that it?" Dean stopped and turned to face her by the trunk of the car as Sam walked over to stand before him. She looked at the car next to them and then down at Dean's worn out boots.

"No, not normal," she said softly, "safe."

"And that's why you ran away." Not a question. A statement of disbelief. An accusation. It stung a little to hear Dean say that, but she figured he needed to vent that anger just a little bit and decided not to snap back at him. Sam shook her head and looked up at her brother.

"I was just going to college, it was Dad who said if I was gonna go, I should stay gone," she muttered, pausing before she continued, "and that's what I'm doing."

"Yeah, well, Dad's in real trouble right now, if he's not dead already. I can feel it." Sam grimaced slightly at that thought and Dean looked down at his hands before speaking again. "I can't do this alone."

Sam internally rolled her eyes. Again with the melodrama. "Yes you can," Sam chastised him, calling him out on his bluff. Dean lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug before letting it fall and bringing his head up to stare at the building behind her.

"Yeah, well, I don't want to." Dean wasn't meeting her eyes, and she knew this was difficult for him to admit. He was all but saying how much he wanted her with him again. She knew how hard it was to admit that he needed someone. In this life, needing someone meant attachment, and attachment only meant pain when some monster went after them for revenge, or bait, or just really bad fucking luck. Even admitting it to family felt dangerous somehow.

Dean really felt that their dad was in danger, and he seemed almost scared to go at it without her. He knew she would be out of practice and her brain would connect the ddots slower, like it had when she'd first started out, so the fact that he was willing to take her anyway showed how desperate he was. It was that reason that made her sigh and already regret the question before she'd asked it.

"What was he hunting?"

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><p><strong>Reviews! Reviews to feed my soul!<strong>

**Loves!**


	3. On the Road Again

**Hello, lovelies,**

**Thanks to those of you who have reviewed so far. They made me smile. D**

**I hope you enjoy this chapter. Things will pick up soon, I promise!**

**Ta!**

**MD**

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><p>The trunk of the Impala was like a story of Sam's past life. Guns, rock salt, holy water, rosaries, different lengths of knives and daggers, books of exorcisms in several languages, and only Dean knew what else were crammed into the back of his car like a jigsaw puzzle. His collection of weapons had grown in the last two years, and Sam couldn't help but stare in awe at some of the new additions. There was a silver knife, slender and small enough to fit in a boot or up a sleeve hidden under his favorite sawed-off and custom Colt 1911 .45 caliber in a corner. Sam even thought she spotted a grenade launcher on the other side of the car, and she idly wondered how he'd gotten his hands on <em>that<em> one.

Dean rummaged around in the pockets and compartments on the second trunk door he kept propped open with a gun, pushing aside newspaper clippings and printed papers with different faces of missing people.

"Alright, let's see. Where the hell did I put that thing..?" Dean muttered. Sam leaned against the side of the car and braced her hands on the Impala, just above the tail lights.

"So, when Dad left, why didn't you go with him?" Sam glanced over the weapons and papers with a small feeling of sadness in her mind. Dean was quickly turning into their father, consumed by the mission to Hunt. How long until she lost her brother to this life too?

"I was working my own gig. This, uh, voodoo thing down in New Orleans." He said, pulling some manila folder out from Sam-didn't-even-know-where and setting it on top of the pile of guns and knives. Sam raised an eyebrow in shock and disbelief. That was certainly new. Since when did their dad feel like he didn't need to look over their shoulders on Hunts to make sure they didn't mess up?

"Dad let you go on a hunting trip by yourself?" Dean looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, his face asking her if she had really just posed that question.

"I'm 26, Sammy." Sam shrugged. Whatever, good for Dean, he had their dad's complete trust now. He must be ecstatic. Dean turned back to the file and pulled out a small stack of papers. One, which he handed to Sam, was a printed news article with the picture of a pretty blonde girl, no older than 16 in the corner. The headline read, 'Police And Parents Desperate For The Return Of Sandra Plith.'

"Alright, here we go. So, Dad was checking out this girl's disappearance around Jericho, California, just several hours from here, actually. Her car was found, empty and abandoned, on the Centennial Bridge by the highway. She just vanished into thin air. That was three weeks ago." Sam stared at the girl's face and frowned. This was one case of a vanishing, nothing special. There had to be something else that had drawn her dad out here to California.

"Maybe she was just kidnapped," Sam offered. Dean yanked the article out of her hands and set it on top of the weapons. He stared at the girl's face for a moment before picking up the rest of the pile of papers.

"Yeah, well, here's another on in April, another one in December '04, '03, '98, '92… ten of them over the last twenty years. All girls, all blondes, all on this bridge. These drivers, they just vanish. No bodies, no blood, nothing. Not even a hair from the victims was found at any of the crime scenes. Just their cars sitting on the bridge. It's like a friggin' Interstate Bermuda Triangle." Dean punctuated each date with a different article, setting them on top of Sandra's face until he had none left.

Okay, now Sam was convinced. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but she was curious and felt a tickling in her brain. The same tickling she had always felt when her brother and dad had taken her on a case with them. It was the eagerness to bury herself in a book or a website and find out what made these fuckers tick so that they died with as little collateral as possible. Sam could already feel the adrenaline in her system. It was like an emotional high to go on a Hunt. It was addictive, and terrifying, and thrilling, and Sam hated it even as she loved it. This was exactly why she left in the first place. She wanted to get out before she got too hooked and got stuck in that life until the day she died.

"Dad went to check it out last Monday, haven't heard from him since." Dean looked at Sam expectantly, waiting to see her reaction. She tapped her fingers on the car, feeling jittery and uncomfortable.

"It's only been a week," she said, thoughtful, "maybe he's just on radio silence." Dean was shaking his head before Sam had even finished her question.

"You know him. Not for this long." He was right. Her uncomfortable feeling grew as she realized why Dean was so worried. Their dad hadn't been around much, but he had always made sure his children knew where he was. When he was gone for extended periods of time, he didn't go more than three days without calling to check in. Never had he been silent for a week. Too much could happen in a week. Hell, too much could happen in a _day_.

"Okay, so, what's your plan?" Dean frowned and turned to face Sam head-on.

"_Our_ plan is that _we_ shag ass to Jericho, California, and we find Dad." Sam stood up and heaved a sigh. This argument was getting old, and she was starting to feel chilly. Her bones felt weary. She'd asked about his case, she hadn't said she would go with him.

"Look, whatever's going on here, Dad can handle it. He eats these kinds of things with his Wheaties, Dean." Dean crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared at Sam. She glared right back, just as stubborn as her older brother.

"Um, what don't you understand? _We_ have to find him. _You_ have to help." Sam closed her eyes and threw her head back. She opened her eyelids slowly and stared up at the sky, the clouds, the floodlight. Anything but Dean's face. She might punch it if she sees it for too long.

"I don't _'have'_ to do anything, Dean. You know, I haven't heard from either of you in two years." Sam dropped her face to look at Dean. "Not one phone call, not even on my birthday. You two could have forgotten all about me, for all I know, and now you want me to help the man that threw me out on my ass, _literally_, and cut all ties all because I wanted a higher education?" Dean frowned.

"I know things have been rocky lately, but, I mean… he's _Dad_. And after everything he's done for you…" Sam nearly growled and threw her hands up in the air.

"Everything he's done for me?"

"Yeah, he–"

"All he's 'done' for me, _us_, is set the land speed records for fucked up childhoods!" Dean shifted his weight and looked uncomfortable. He knew she was right, but he would never admit that their dad had done something wrong. He couldn't afford to question their dad's judgment, not in this line of work.

"Sammy, should I be prepping for a point here anytime soon?" Sam could pull her hair out; she got so frustrated with her brother sometimes.

"The point is, Dean, that I never asked for it. The occult homework, the family road trips, hunting down the shit from nightmares and legends. I didn't ask for _any_ of it."

"You can't pick your family, kiddo." Dean's voice was quiet, though his face was still set in that uncomfortable scowl he had going on. Sam wondered if he thought she was ashamed of her family. That wasn't it, not really. She was ashamed of that life they lived, not her family. But she ignored the concern she had for her brother's fears and the sneaking feeling that Dean was right and something had happened to their dad. She didn't want to believe it, because that meant going on a Hunt, and she had sworn through her pain and tears on that smelly bus that she would never go on a Hunt again.

"No, I can't, but I can pick my own life. All our gory dysfunction – I left it behind me, and all I want is for it to stay buried back there." Dean let his arms loose and put them in his pants' pockets, hunching up and shivering slightly. Apparently, Sam wasn't the only cold one out here.

"You know as well as I do. Nothing stays buried." Sam's brows pulled together and she looked down at her feet. She willed herself to believe that Dean was wrong, tried so hard to use her hurt and anger to prove him wrong, but she couldn't. Dad was missing, on a case, and something was amiss. Sam was pissed as Hell at her dad, but that didn't mean she wanted him to die. But could she really just do one job and be done? Would she be able to thrust herself into a Hunt with her brother after two years of adapting and then just go back to college like nothing had happened? She wasn't entirely sure she could, and that fear kept her from saying yes, along with her irritation at Dean for showing up with all this crap out of nowhere. However, pictures of her dad lying in a shady motel room bleeding out couldn't allow her to say no anymore. Sam was torn and had no idea what to do. So, she just stared at her boots like they had all the answers and said nothing.

"Samantha… please. Come with me and help me find Dad." She snapped her head up to remind Dean that he wasn't allowed to call her Samantha unless he was feeling masochistic, but as soon as her eyes locked on her older brother's, she was a goner. His eyes were full of all the dread, uncertainty, fear, and determination to help their dad he could muster, and they were pleading with her not to say no again. She knew if she said no just one more time Dean would leave and never ask her for anything again, but she also knew that no wasn't an option for her. It had never been an option for her from the moment Dean shimmied through her window and pinned her to her hardwood floor. No matter what Sam had wanted to believe, or tried to convince herself of, they would have gotten to this same point. Sam would be torn between two lives that didn't mesh, worried for her dad's safety and angry that he went missing and put this shit on her shoulders.

'_The things we do for family…'_ Sam thought bitterly. She drew in a long, deep breath and puffed out a slow sigh. She scratched the back of her head awkwardly before her hand flopped back down. She bit her lip and closed her eyes against the world, so cruel and unfair.

"All right. I'll go." She heard Dean inhale quietly and opened her eyes, drilling them into her brother's, all seriousness and stubborn will. "But I have to be back first thing Monday." Dean's face furrowed, confused as he shut first the door to the arsenal, then the trunk door and sat down against his baby.

"What's first thing Monday?" Sam shrugged and looked off to the side.

"I have this…" she straightened her back and looked at Dean with all of her Winchester pride, "I have an interview." He looked even more confused now.

"What, a job interview?" He shrugged. "Skip it."

Sam thought about "skipping" her law school interview and almost choked. She shook her head once at Dean.

"It's a law school interview, and it's my whole future on a plate." Dean's face went from confused to incredulous.

"Law school? You want to be a _lawyer_?" Samantha crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow at her brother.

"And what's wrong with me wanting to be a lawyer?" Dean snickered and raised his eyebrows at her like she was four. She hated that look. She was a girl, and four years younger than him, but that didn't mean she needed to be treated like a damn baby.

"Oh, nothing, little sister. Nothing at all." Sam knew he was just waiting for her to take the bait, but she was too worn out, mentally and physically to deal with this right now. She still had to get her crap together to leave, not to mention cancel on Roger again. She was really starting to feel bad about how often she'd been cancelling their dates, but it wasn't like she could help it. Her school work had been burying her alive, and then Dean chose her only free weekend to make her life topsy-turvy.

"Whatever. So do we have a deal or not?" Dean thought for a moment and nodded.

"Yeah, sure. First thing Monday. Now hurry up, we gotta put some road behind us." Sam turned without a word and walked back down the stairs to the screen door on the side of her complex building. She barely noticed her trip up the stairs and down the hall to her door, so she was a little surprised when she found herself standing in front of her plain, white door, her hand resting gently on the handle. She worried at her lip and huffed.

"You're being stupid Sam. Come on, just get it over with." With that small pep talk out of the way, she opened the door and walked in. Roger was, of course, waiting for her on the couch in the living room. He stood up as soon as she walked back in to the apartment and looked at her, silent and hopelessly concerned. Oh, and adorable. Did Sam mention adorable? Because when Roger was concerned his nose crinkled in such a way and his eyes seemed to shine even brighter than normal. Two pools of chocolate and warmth poured out his soul for her, and Sam simply melted when he looked at her like that.

"What did your brother have to say? Is everything okay, Sam?" She blew hair out of face and walked towards the bedroom, stalling. What to say, what to say. Sam had to be careful about this, or she was going to tip off Roger that the situation was a lot more serious than he thought. Guy was so damn perceptive.

"Oh, he didn't say much. It's just a bit of family drama is all." Sam walked to her closet and pulled out her old leather knapsack out from under a giant pile of clothes with a soft grunt. She surreptitiously opened the flap and looked down at the bottom and checked to make sure the few weapons she'd brought with her to college were still there. She had a .45, much like Dean's, which was loaded with seven silver bullets, and a simple dagger Dean had made for her with iron and salt inlaid in the silver blade. There were a few other meager weapons to her name, but she hadn't figured she would need an arsenal like Dean or her father where she was going.

She began to toss in enough clothes for four days while Roger quietly watched her from the bed. It was only Friday, but Sam had no idea if either of them were going to get dirty, and she had learned on her first Hunt with her dad that someone was always injured. Better to be safe than without clean clothes.

"Is this about your dad? Is he alright?" Sam walked over to her dresser and grabbed her only necklace off the top and slipped it over her head to hang around her neck. A long silver chain looped through her mother's wedding ring, which was a small delicate band of silver that broke in half on both sides of a single diamond that rested in the middle like an iris. She'd always imagined that this ring was like her mother keeping an eye out for her and watching over her only daughter. There wasn't a day where she didn't wear it.

Sam tucked her mom's ring under her purple V-neck shirt and turned to Roger. She smiled at him, forcing it only just the slightest bit.

"Yeah, he's fine. He's just hunting deer up at the cabin. He's probably got Jim, Jack, and Jose with him. We're just gonna go up there and bring him back is all." Jim, Jack, and Jose alright. Jim Beam, Jack Daniels, and Jose Cuervo were probably there to keep Sam's dad company when he wasn't out getting mauled and scarred. Ah, it's a wonderful life.

Sam walked past Roger and closed the flap on her knapsack, pulling the strap through the buckle without actually securing it. She went off the mental list of things she'd packed in her head. Clothes, weapons, toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, phone charger, her migraine medication, and a small first aid kit. Was she missing anything..?

"But what about the interview? You can't afford to miss that Sam. Don't waste your 174 LSAT score because of family drama. You worked hard to get this interview and be noticed at this school. You deserve this, Sam." Sam smiled genuinely at Roger this time and walked over and sat next to him. She placed her hand over his and softly rubbed her thumb in circles on the back of his skin.

"I'll make the interview, Roger. It's only for a couple of days. We just gotta go get my dad." That being said, Sam stood up and swung her knapsack onto her shoulder. She walked out into the hallway and stopped at the coat closet by the front door, Roger following close behind. She grabbed her favorite black pea coat and stopped to say goodbye to Roger. His face told her he had something wanted to say to her. She raised her eyebrows.

"What?" Roger knitted his eyebrows together in thought and frowned.

"It's just… you won't even _talk_ about your family, but your brother shows up at three in the morning and now you're spending the weekend with him? Are you sure you're okay?" His eyes looked suspicious and latched onto her face for any clues that something was up. Sam felt her nerves twist in a very unsettling way, but she punched it down and threw him her most charming grin.

"Yes, Roger. I'm okay, everybody's okay. It's just something I have to take care of. Now I really gotta go, Dean's waiting." Sam stood up on her toes and pecked Roger on the lips with a chaste kiss and pulled open the door before he could pry for any more details. "Bye! Love you! See you on Monday!"

She pulled the door shut behind her and bolted down the stairs. It wasn't until she was standing out in the cold that her nerves unwound again. Sam walked to the top of the stairs outside in the alley and stared at Dean, sitting impatiently in the driver's seat of the only honest love of his life. She walked over to the door behind Dean and opened it with a loud creaking noise. She tossed her stuff on the seat and shut the door. When she got in the passenger's seat and shut the door she winced.

"She sounds sick, Dean. You need to take care of her or she'll start cheating on you. Next thing you know, I'll be her favorite." Dean gasped and looked at Sam in horror.

"I treat my baby girl right, you hear me? She isn't sick, she's a fucking work of art!" Dean leaned forward and patted the dashboard lovingly. "Don't listen to her, baby, she doesn't understand us."

Sam rolled her eyes at her brother's ridiculousness, but she couldn't help the small grin that tugged at her lips. No matter what had happened between them, Dean could always make her smile.

"Do I need to leave you two alone?" Dean smiled sideways at his sister and turned the keys in the ignition. The car roared to life and softened to a quite purr as the engine idled. He put the car in reverse and backed out onto the street before speeding away.

"Nah. She missed you." Sam felt something warm slightly in her chest to melt the chip on her shoulder ever so slightly. She glanced at Dean, who was stubbornly keeping his eyes on the road, then looked out the windshield. Would he ever be able to admit it himself, or was he always going to avoid saying that he really, truly wanted his baby sister to keep him company and help him out?

"Yeah, I missed her too." Sam could almost feel the smile in the air on Dean's lips, but she knew that if she tried to peak, it would be gone. She settled against the window, using her pea coat as a makeshift pillow and closed her eyes.

"Wake me when we're close." Dean grunted, and Sam already felt herself drifting off, the silent purr of the Impala wrapping around her like a security blanket, making her relax against the window. Some things never changed.

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><p><strong>Remember, lovelies, more reviews will get faster updates!<strong>

**Leave me your thoughts. (:**


	4. Migraines and Credit Card Scams

**Hello again, Lovelies! **

**Thanks so much for all the alerts, they make my heart smile. I hope I'm doing Dean justice up to this point. In the parts where I have to wing it, I'm trying to make it so he still has his macho-man-tough-as-nails-never-talk-about-crap attitude, but is a little softer to Sam since Sam's a _girl_ in this. In the show, any girl that's important to him he's still teased and flirted with, but he still treats them special, and the way I see it, that special treatment would be bottomless for his sister.**

**Anyway, I hope, more than anything, that y'all are enjoying it.**

**Please leave me your thoughts and love!**

**MD**

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><p>She knew that there was something wrong. She could taste it on the tip of her tongue, like something sour and tangy and sharp. Like fear. Like death. Walking to her bedroom was a bad idea. There was something evil there, something that would break her to her very core. She couldn't go to the bedroom. Her legs carried her against her will until she was at her bedroom door.<p>

Don't look. Don't touch the doorknob. Don't open it. Don't go inside. Stop, run away, leave. Flee. Go. Run!

The door creaked open like out of some cheesy horror film, but unlike those movies, this actually scared her. She was so frightened to break the silence, so scared that there was something lurking in wait, wanting to pounce on her. Wanting to bite, rip, cut, hurt, kill. Her bedroom was a bad idea. Her bedroom was an evil place.

Her hands shook as she pushed the door open and walked without a sound to her bed and laid down on it, her eyes closing of their own accord. Her stomach felt like it was falling, and her hands were sweaty. She was almost hyperventilating. Away, away, she needed to get away. She needed to get somewhere away from here, somewhere safe.

There was something dripping on her forehead. It was wet and warm, and she knew what it was, though she couldn't put a name to it. The name simply ran away from her. She knew. She didn't know what it was called, but she knew. It was thick and hot and boiled within her own skin, and it was the last thing she wanted to see. But she'd known this would happen. Hadn't she always known it would end like this?

Another drip and her brow furrowed. She opened her eyes and tried to see past the horror on the ceiling. Tried to look past the evil she'd known was in here and pretend all she saw nothing. Her eyes hyper-focused instead.

Roger. Her Roger. Her darling, sweet, adorable, observant Roger. His black hair looked like ink against his pale skin. No… not pale. White. His skin was white, there was no color left. Except on his stomach. Blood oozed and seeped and crawled and dripped out from a wound in his stomach that she wanted to vomit just from looking at. Black, white, and red stained her ceiling like a festering wound. He was pinned. He was dead. He was bleeding. He was dead. Dead, dead, dead, death, dead.

"No. NO!" her voice sounded unnatural. Shrill and full of static, like she was talking with a bad connection. Weights chained her wrists and ankles down. She could do nothing but lie on the bed and stare at Roger. Her eyes wouldn't shut at all. She couldn't even blink.

"ROGER! NO!" She wailed, but it was no use. He couldn't hear a single thing she was saying to him. Run. She wanted to run. Wanted to flee this nightmare. Nowhere to run. Escape. Nowhere to hide. Leave. Nowhere to go.

Trapped. Roger. Death. Trapped.

Blood from his stomach curled out in tendrils and passed over his skin to the ceiling his corpse was resting on. She watched in horror as the coils laced together and wove with one another until above her head were three words, spelled out in disgustingly elegant script.

'Coming for you.'

She screamed as fire erupted from his body and consumed the ceiling. It ate greedily, sucking up happy memories she had stored in this place until it had burned them all to ash. The roar of the fire burned this image into her brain. It was seared permanently on the front of her mind. She would never forget this, for as long as she lived.

Deep laughter came at her from behind the fire, evil and heartless. It chilled her skin like ice even as the fire burned her life away. She screamed and cried and struggled and begged for mercy. This couldn't be real. She couldn't be going through this. This wasn't real. Not real. Scary. Death. Roger. Fake. Run.

RUN!

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><p>Samantha snapped her eyes open, and shot up in her seat, panting and looking around wildly. Dean jumped at her sudden movement and shot a surprised and worried look over to her. She looked up, and though it had been completely irrational, she'd been terrified there was some sign that her dream had been true. Of course, the roof of the Impala was clean of any burns or blood, and she settled back against the seat, groaning.<p>

"The hell was that all about?" Dean growled. Sam pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, already feeling the onset of another headache.

"Your seats are uncomfortable as shit, that's what the hell this is all about. I was so damn sore I woke myself out of a dream just to switch positions." Dean glared at her and turned back to the road. She was lying through her teeth and hoped to God the insult to his car drew his attention away from it. He was freakishly good at catching her in a lie, and Sam knew that when she was trying to fight off an impending headache-turned-possible-migraine she was going to be even worse at it than normal. But even if he called her out on her shit, she wasn't about to open up to him about that dream. She wasn't a child who went crying to her brother at every scary thing anymore. She wasn't going to cry like a baby, no matter how much he poked and prodded. She had her secrets too, dammit. Her nightmares were none of his business. Her freakishly vivid nightmares were no one's business.

"Hey. You watch your mouth or I will leave your ass on the side of the road. You can walk the rest of the way to Jericho. My baby's sensitive." Sam just rolled her eyes. At least her ploy had worked. She reached for her bag on the back seat and rummaged through the side pocket on the right for the bottle of medicine she'd gotten refilled just last week. She opened the bottle and snatched two small pills before putting the cap on and tossing her meds back in the pocket. She sat back down on the seat and popped the pills in her mouth and swallowed them dry.

It was then that she noticed that the sky had lightened a good deal since they'd set out. She looked down at her watch on her left wrist. 5:37 AM. She'd been asleep for two-and-a-half-hours.

"Whatever Dean, just pull over soon. I crave sustenance, and if I don't get something in my stomach within an hour, I'm gonna be puking all over the place." Dean paled and pressed down on the gas a little harder, seriously pushing the speed limit.

"What? Why?" Sam shrugged.

"The medicine I just took is pretty heavy stuff, and if I have an empty stomach after an hour I've taken it, then I get nauseous." Dean shook his head.

"What medicine? Why do you have that kind of medication? Is something wrong, Sammy? Are you okay? You aren't… sick, are you?" Sam had to smile a little at the sudden barrage of questions.

"Which one do I answer first?"

"Uh…" Sam's smile grew.

"Right. Stuff for migraines, because I've been getting chronic migraines lately, no, nothing I can't handle, yes, as long as I get food soon, and no, but I will be in about an hour unless you stop somewhere." Dean looked lost for a moment but then just nodded and paid closer attention to the signs on the side of the road. There was a gas station about two miles up that he said he was going to stop at. She could grab something there, and he needed gas anyways.

When Dean pulled up next to a pump and turned off the car, Sam jumped out, happy to stretch her cramped muscles. When she started walking to the store, Dean stood in front of her, directly blocking her way.

"Um, rude much? Do you want me to give your car a new paint job or not?" Dean rolled his eyes and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Sam, you can't use your credit cards in there. I know you've been gone for a while but –"

"Relax, Dean. I've got more than enough cash for a convenience store breakfast. Going to college doesn't mean I've forgotten everything." Sam brushed past him easily and walked in, scrunching her nose at the stale smell. Ah, well. Beggars can't be choosers.

She ended up buying a thing of bottled water, a couple of fruit bars, a pack of gum, and a brand of chips she hadn't had since she was a little girl. She paid with cash and walked back out to the car where Dean had the gas filling up his almost empty tank. Sam walked over to where Dean was standing and patted the Impala gently. He looked at her confused but she just smiled sadly at his car.

"You poor girl. Is big, bad Dean sticking things in uncomfortable places again?" Her brother chuckled and wore his cocky grin Sam had come to think of as his trademark. He pulled the nozzle out of his car and put it back in the pump and looked at Sam, still smiling, before shaking his head and walking in to pay. Sam went back to the passenger side and opened the door, sitting down on the seat facing out so her feet were still on the ground. She set her food down on the floor, next to an old-looking shoe box that was ripping in places, and held together with duct tape in others.

Her eyes widened and a huge grin broke out on her face. Dean's music. His music. His tapes. Metallica, Black Sabbath, Motorhead, Led Zeppelin… all the best of classic rock. It was a common love between the two siblings, and Sam squealed with joy, her food forgotten as she dove for the box. She snooped through for her favorite tape, and found it all the way at the bottom, ripping it out.

Oh yes, she had missed this. Sam had no problem admitting that. She was shameless about her love for classic rock; her father had told her that she was worse than Dean, but she figured they were about even in their addiction. No one at college had understood and appreciated the timeless music quite like Sam had. Most had felt a curious inclination towards a few songs that they didn't even know by name, and Sam had felt so let down when she realized that techno and earthy "feel good" music was what everyone wanted to listen to nowadays. Personally, Sam couldn't stand the shit and had no problem bitching at anyone when they asked her to turn her Stones down. Oh yes, she had definitely missed Dean's stash of music.

The tape label was barely hanging on, and the text was smeared so much that it was a wonder Sam recognized it for what it was, but that didn't matter. AC/DC. Hell yeah. Her favorite band. And Dean had chosen especially good songs to put on here. Throwing a quick glance over at the ignition Sam did a mental happy dance. Dean had left the keys behind.

He could bitch and moan all he wanted about her leaving his car to idle when he wasn't around. Forget him and his bullshit, she wanted some goddamned AC/DC.

Sam quickly popped the tape in after shutting her door, and turned the keys. The car roared to life like it had back at Stanford, and she immediately pushed rewind. She was going to listen to the whole tape, from the very beginning, and she was going to blast it as loud as her ears could take, consideration for people around her be damned. Everyone should enjoy the musical majesty that is AC/DC.

It only took a few moments for the tape to click to a stop, and Sam mashed the play button probably harder than she should have, but for these few moments she was just so… happy. Something she definitely hadn't expected on this trip, but she didn't mind being proven wrong in this instance. Dean and Sam had even started up their teasing again. It was light and unobtrusive right now, but it was a start. A step towards some healing. The Hunt hadn't gone nearly as bad as she had expected it to so far, and she was fine playing the optimist right now. It helped her not regret her decision to come, and it lessened her guilt about walking out on Roger like that. But only by a little.

Pretty soon Samantha was sitting back into her part of the bench seat, smiling happily and nibbling on a fruit bar as "Thunderstruck" boomed out of the car and into the air. The car vibrated with the bass and her ears were a little sore, but she was enjoying herself thoroughly. When she had finished her fruit bar, she picked up the other one and wolfed that down in a few bites. Good enough for her. She grabbed her air guitar and started playing along, singing like a drunken idiot and feeling completely unashamed at her childish behavior. It wasn't long until Sam was whipping her head around with the music.

Seeing AC/DC in concert was on her bucket list. Along with Guns 'N Roses, Aerosmith, and Blue Oyster Cult, but those were just her top choices. Eventually the song ended and Sam leaned back against the seat with her eyes closed, panting slightly from the effort she had put into savoring the song. A few seconds later, "For Those About to Rock, We Salute You" started playing, but it was much lower than "Thunderstruck" had played. Without opening her eyes, Sam tilted her head towards where Dean was probably leaning through the window and making fun of her with his eyes.

"I thought I've told you the house rules before, Sammy: Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts their cakehole." Yes, definitely making fun of her. His voice cracked with his effort of not laughing at her. Screw Dean, he was just as bad as her about rocking out to his music; he had no right to mock her.

"Pie hole in your case, yeah?" Sam opened her eyes and gave Dean a pointed look. He grinned, unabashed at her question. His love of pie almost rivaled his passion for the Impala.

"Damn right, Sammy." Dean pulled his door open and settled in behind the wheel, setting food of his own between them on the seat. Sam stared at the food and large soda and bit her lip, thinking.

"Dean, how'd you pay for all that? Are you guys still running credit card scams?" Dean shrugged, pulling out of the gas station faster than most people were comfortable with.

"Hunting ain't exactly a pro-ball career. 'Sides, all we do is apply. It's not our fault they send us the cards." Sam leaned down by her feet for her chips and water, unphased by her brother's answer.

"Yeah? And what names did you write on the application _this_ time?" Dean thought for a moment, trying to remember.

"Uh… Bert Aframian, and his son Hector. Scored two cards outta the deal." Dean waggled his eyebrows, obviously finding the names just as ridiculous as Sam did. She snorted and tried to imagine her brother posing as a "Hector." The image made her bark out a laugh before she could stifle it. She swallowed the rest of her laughs with a big swig of water.

"They aren't _that_ funny, Sammy."

"You know, Dean, I'm not Sammy anymore. Sammy was a chubby little girl that couldn't get a paper cut without crying to you about it. It's Sam, okay?" Dean reached over to the volume control and cranked the music back up as the intro to "Back in Black" began.

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you," Dean raised his voice above the music to be heard, "the music's too loud." Sam saw rather than heard Dean's smug chuckle and shook her head. He was so childish sometimes. 26 her ass, he was as emotionally stunted as a teenager.

She couldn't help it when her head started bobbing or when she started lightly strumming on a smaller version of her previous air guitar. And when she heard the singing, she thought what the hell and opened her mouth to join. Jericho was still a good two hours away, according to the store clerk, so she might as well enjoy the ride.

Dean just laughed at her, but even he wasn't immune to the power of AC/DC. His fingers tapped on the steering wheel and his head was bobbing just a little. Sam got herself comfortable for the ride, popping a chip in her mouth. It wasn't the kind of breakfast she was used to, but she'd just have to make due.

Sam grinned when her brother started singing along too. She pulled out her cell phone for the first time since leaving and turned it on. She had four text messages and a missed call from Roger. When she got to her inbox she saw that the first three were from some of her friends asking why she hadn't been in class today. They obviously hadn't talked to Roger yet. Sam fleetingly wondered for a moment what he would tell them when they asked. She opened the last text, from Roger and read it to "Rock 'N' Roll Ain't Noise Pollution".

'_Hey Sam,_

_Just wanted to check in. Where are you guys? You doing okay? I miss you!_

_Love,_

_Roger.'_

Sam smiled and wrote him a quick but evasive message back not really giving him a real location, but assuring him she was okay. Roger was going to be impatient and angry with her when she got back, but there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn't open up about this to him, and he would just have to understand or learn to deal with disappointment. She wasn't going to add his nightmares to her conscience when she told him about the monsters out in the world.

When they passed a sign that said they were seven miles outside of Jericho, Sam grew tense. What answers were they going to get when they got there? Was their dad safe? Was he injured, or just falling off the map for this case? What had him so scared that he couldn't even check in?

What the hell had happened here?

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><p><strong>Review? Please? You know you want to! See? Your fingers are just itching to review! Just let it happen. (:<strong>


	5. Answers

**Hello, my beauties!**

**You all know the drill, yeah? Read and review, pretty please! I will send you buckets of love forever if you do!**

**MD**

**Oh, and I just realized that the last two chapters I've put up haven't had disclaimers on them. OOPS. Ha. Let's fix that right now. ;P**

**_DISCLAIMER: I do not own any bit of Supernatural, much to my dismay. The genius of this show belongs to Eric Kripke and all the brilliant writers involved in this show._**

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><p>"Thank you very much, sir." Sam's perfect English accent had worked like magic. She didn't know what it was about men, but they seemed so much more willing to answer her questions if she was a foreigner, and an English accent had been the easiest one to master. It was also the most charming to many people in this country, apparently. It helped her to keep people from recognizing her voice if they met Sam in person by some freak accident. So, she usually only reserved using accents for over the phone.<p>

She flipped her phone shut and set it in her lap, grabbing for her water. She took a sip before setting it down and letting Dean in on the information she'd gleaned from the overly-friendly man on the phone.

"Well, there's no one matching Dad's description at the hospital or morgue, so that's something, I guess." Dean glanced over at her as he slowed down, approaching the bridge. There were several cop cars, flashing their lights, and Sam instinctively snickered at them. They thought this was a regular crime scene. Half the squad here would probably turn in their gun and badge on the spot if they knew the truth. After shitting their pants, of course. Still, she admired them for their attempt at finding the answers; it was just that people not born into this life couldn't handle the truth.

"Check it out." Dean remarked as he pulled to the side of the road and turned off his car. He sat there for a few moments, eyes roving over the brown uniforms of the state police, scanning the small crowd of police that had swarmed the scene like ants. He reached over to the glove compartment in front of Sam and opened it with a hard yank. The small compartment door opened with a loud groan and Dean pulled out a little wooden box from within. He opened the lid and sifted through a pile of fake identification cards. He had FBI, DEA, the CDC, and several others Sam couldn't remember stuffed in there, but when he pulled out a small black leather badge case she knew exactly which one he'd gone for. Federal Marshal.

She groaned and Dean smiled a little too innocently at her before opening his car and saying, "Let's go," and slipping out. Was he doing this on purpose? She was trying to study law, for crying out loud! She wanted it to be her life, her career. She was going to work on the same side as the police someday, and seeing him just whip out a fake ID of a government official felt like she'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. They needed answers, yes, but Sam found that just pretending to work for the government to weasel answers out of the police didn't sit so well with her anymore. She wasn't as indifferent about it as she used to be.

Sam slammed her door shut when she got out of the Impala, and Dean shot his sister a warning look before walking towards the crime scene tape. In the middle of the bridge sat an empty blue '86 VW Rabbit. Sam cringed inwardly a little at the car left by, presumably, the latest victim. She hated Rabbits. They made her think of too much poufy hair and bright colored spandex.

A cop leaned over the side of the bridge and shouted down to people coming out of the river in wetsuits.

"You guys find anything?" The answer was too faint for Sam to make out what they said, but she knew their answer would be no. And of course they hadn't. There wouldn't be a trace of anything left by a human.

The police officer walked away from the edge and to the car where another, younger officer was crouched on the road by the driver's seat looking for any shred of evidence. The older man leaned on the open passenger door and looked at his companion through the car. Sam thought he looked like a giant fudgesicle with his dark brown skin and uniform of different-shades-of-brown and ducked her head to hide the grin she felt on her face. Years of being around Dean's crude humor had rubbed off on her it seemed.

"No sign of a struggle," said the younger man who Sam noticed had a much paler shade of skin than his partner, "no footprints, no fingerprints. Spotless. It's almost _too_ clean." The older man shook his head, disappointed in the lack of evidence at this crime scene.

"So this kid, Maria. She's friends with your daughter, Amy, isn't she?" asked the older man. His voice was low but a little scratchy, like he was recovering from a cold. Dean and Sam stopped by the edge of the bridge closest to the younger man and listened to the conversation for a few moments longer.

"Yeah, she was."

"How's Amy doin'?" The younger man shrugged and began to pack up his supplies and investigative tools.

"She's putting up missing posters downtown." Sam looked over at Dean who met her gaze and nodded. Now they had someone related to the victim to go track down and talk to. Amy, downtown, the girl putting up missing posters. Progress already.

Dean cleared his throat and drew the attention of the two men to him. He switched into business mode effortlessly and pushed his shoulders back and his chest out just the slightest bit. His face became calm and focused. He was no longer Dean Winchester, older brother and full-time Hunter. He was now Mr. Whatever-ridiculous-name-he-had-now, Federal Marshal, and he was supposed to be there. He had the confidence, he had the right, and he had the power.

It took Sam a good minute or so to remember that she was supposed to be selling this too, and she berated herself for being so slow. She pulled her hands out of her pockets and left one on her hip and she let the other rest against her thigh. She pushed her own shoulders back to stand up straighter and brought her head up until her she was looking the older officer square in the eyes. She wasn't as open with her body as Dean, but that was intentional. She wanted them to pay attention to her brother as she was without a fake ID. He was going to be the talker for this one.

"You fellas had another one like this just last month, didn't ya?" The two police officers stood up and straightened, with the younger one hooking his fingers in his utility belt.

"Who are you?" asked the older man. Dean whipped out his badge and Sam shifted her weight to her left foot as subtly as she could so that she was standing more behind Dean than next to him. Out of sight, out of mind.

"Federal Marshals." He was already putting his badge back into his pocket. The older man, Sam saw his name tag read "Moller", stopped for a second, his face scrunched in confusion. He looked at Dean, then Sam who kept her eyes on his the whole time.

"You two are a little young for Federal Marshals, aren't ya?" Dean looked over at the car as he chuckled.

"Ha. Thanks. That's awfully kind of you." Dean walked over to look in through the back window inside the car, and Sam followed, standing off to the side. After a second Dean walked over and stood next to her, in between her and the younger officer. "You _did_ have another just like this, correct?"

Officer Moller frowned at Dean for a moment before answering. "Yes, that's right, and there have been others before that."

Now with introductions out of the way, and their covers bought, Sam felt comfortable enough to speak. She looked first down at the younger officer, then the car, and finally back to Officer Moller before talking.

"So this victim… you knew her?" Moller looked startled at Sam talking, but quickly nodded, his face looked a little sad as he spoke.

"Town like this, everybody knows everybody." Dean piped up to the side of Sam and Moller, walking around the front of the car to stand in the place where the younger officer had been crouching a little while ago.

"Any connection between the victims besides that they're all blonde women?" Moller shook his head.

"No, not so far as we can tell." Dean nodded, expecting that answer. Sam could tell Dean's patience was wearing thin with the lack of information the police had to offer, and she moved to stand beside him in case he thought to do something stupid.

"So what's the theory?" Sam asked, talking as she moved. Moller shrugged, looking hopeless.

"Honestly? We don't know. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?" Dean snorted under his breath.

"Well," Dean said, his voice full of sarcastic gratitude, "that is _exactly_ the kind of crack police work I'd expect outta you guys." Sam drew up her left foot with her black GI style combat boot and stomped on his foot as hard as she could. Dean jumped a little and "oomphed" as soft as he could, clenching his teeth to keep the sound in, but she hadn't made it in time. She'd only gotten to his foot in time to make his last words trail off at the end.

That had qualified as stupid in Sam's book. Upsetting the police wasn't going to do them any good, especially if they were going to be here for the next few days. Moller, who had apparently heard Dean perfectly clear, looked first confused and then angry and he glared at Sam's brother. Sam offered a cool smile.

"Thank you for your time, gentlemen." And with that she walked away. She heard Dean trudging behind her and kept her back straight and her eyes forward. She was so focused on looking like she belonged there that she didn't feel the rush of air as Dean's hand went for the back of Sam's head. Oh, but she noticed when his hand connected.

Sam flinched and reached her hand up to cradle the spot on her he'd assaulted. "Ow!" Sam whispered. "What the hell was that for?"

Dean walked up next to her and grinded his words out in a low voice. There were still other officers around, after all. "Why you gotta step on my foot?"

"Why do you talk to the police like that?" She threw back, without missing a beat. She knew he hated it when she answered his question with a question, but she didn't care all that much right now. She rubbed her head one last time before letting her hand drop back to her side. Dammit, if she got a headache because of him, she was going to break his face.

Dean stopped abruptly in front of her and turned to look down at her. "Come on. They don't really know what's going on. We're all alone on this. I mean, if we're gonna find Dad, we've gotta get to the bottom of this thing ourselves." Sam was about to speak but she glanced behind his shoulder and cleared her throat instead, looking back to Dean and then pointedly behind him. He turned around and saw two male FBI agents and the sheriff standing a few feet away and staring at the siblings silently.

"Can I help you two?" drawled the sheriff. Dean shook his head.

"No, sir. We were just leaving." The two FBI men walked past Dean, who nodded at them both as they passed saying, "Agent Mulder. Agent Scully." Sam just shook her head and followed Dean as he walked past the sheriff back towards the Impala.

"Slap me again, Dean, and I'll break your fingers." Sam said in a nonchalant voice as she passed him to go around to the passenger's side. Dean rolled his eyes and yanked the door open.

"Says the chick that couldn't even land one punch on me back on her own turf." Sam growled. She was still sore about that and saw him bringing that up as a low blow. She crossed her arms and pouted as Dean pulled away from the bridge and headed into town.

"We lookin' for Amy now?" Sam asked, pointedly ignoring Dean's jab at her hand-to-hand combat. He grunted and grinned over at her; he'd won that one and now felt the need to gloat. Smug bastard. She'd get him back before the end, if only out of sheer determination.

Downtown Jericho was classic small-town America. There was a main two-lane street with antique shops and smalls markets and cafes on the side. It was at the old, busted up movie theater that they found two girls taping up missing persons flyers. Dean parked the Impala in front the furniture store next to it and turned off the car as they got out.

The closest girl had reddish-brown hair kept up in a messy ponytail. A deep red shirt on with a brown jacket, pants and Uggs, with a black bag that looked big enough to swallow her whole, full of flyers. The other girl, walking to the other side of the theater to put her up small stack, had on a red and black plaid miniskirt and a pink shirt hidden mostly by a black jacket zipped all the way up to her neck. Her light brown hair was down and around her shoulders. Sam noted with disdain that this pseudo-goth girl was wearing fishnet stockings and sported boots of her own.

Sam had never like being around these kinds of girls back at school. She had feeling this one wouldn't be any different.

Dean pointed to the closer, relatively normal looking girl and said, "I bet you that's Amy."

"Mhm," was all Sam offered back as they walked up to said girl. She stopped and looked at the first Sam, then Dean, her eyes lingering just a little longer than was socially acceptable on Sam's brother.

"You must be Amy," Dean cooed, purposefully dropping his voice a little lower than normal. The girl blushed and smiled, looking back to the fliers.

"Yeah," she muttered. Amy glanced at Sam, curious and suspicious before turning back to Dean. Sam had to concentrate very hard to not snicker and roll her eyes.

'_Good luck with that, Amy'_ Sam jeered in her head.

"Maria told us about you, we're his cousins. I'm Dean, this is Sammy." Sam glared at her brother.

"Sam. Not Sammy." Dean waved her off, keeping focused on Amy.

"She never mentioned you to me." Amy mumbled, sounding a little hurt and walking away to place more fliers elsewhere.

"Well that's Maria, I guess. We're not around much, we're up in Modesto." Okay, enough with Dean talking. Sam wanted to get answers and then move on. She walked past Dean and wormed her way between them so that Amy _had_ to look at her.

"See, we're looking for her too, and we're kinda asking around." Sam stopped talking as Amy's friend came up next to her and patted her shoulder, looking at Dean and Sam apprehensively.

"Hey, you okay?" Amy nodded and smiled at her friend before turning back to Sam.

"You mind if we ask you a couple questions?" Amy shrugged at Sam.

"Fine, I guess." Dean pointed out a café across the street and began walking, Sam and the two girls soon following. Two teenagers, one attracted to her brother and probably planning to compete with Sam for Dean's attention, and the other wearing so much makeup that she looked 46 rather than 16. Not to mention that Dean had the capacity to be much like a 16 year-old himself. Sounded peachy.

Sam called again on those deeps well of self-control and forced herself to stay calm. She felt she could manage Dean and these two girls that looked like imitations of those stupid bitches at Stanford she'd wanted to hit. She could handle this. She got this. Well, as long as Dean didn't call her Sammy again.

The group was ushered to a booth back in the corner where a very bored looking waitress ordered their drinks. Sam and Dean got coffee while Amy just stuck with water and Rachael decided on juice. The four people were quiet until they had their drinks in front of them to do any talking. Sam grabbed two packets of sugar out a small jar on the table. Screw cream. Cream was for pussies. When they'd all settled in, Dean popped the question.

"So when was the last time you talked to her?"

"Last night. I was on the phone with Maria. She was driving back from a party and I was on the line to make sure she got home okay. She wasn't, like, a huge drinker or anything, but still. Small town people tend to do some pretty crazy stuff at parties." Amy started sniffling at this point, and her goth-girl (Sam had found out her name was Rachael) rubbed her back in gentle circles. Amy took a deep breath to steady herself and continued. "She said she had to go for a moment, but that she'd call me right back. She, uh… She never did."

Sam's mouth set in a grim line. She'd heard a lot of stories like this one before, but it never made it easier. She always felt so sad to see people go through this kind of pain and not even get the answers they deserved. Sam didn't know how her dad and Dean could go through one mission, right after another, and still be completely unaffected by all the sadness they saw in people. It always stuck with Sam; she couldn't detach herself from the people they were trying to save. Dean had chastised his little sister often for that. He'd told her that she couldn't take a case home like that, it would eat her alive. She knew he spoke the truth, but Sam just didn't know how to not care about someone when they were in pain. Even if they were goth-imitation-teenage punks that always made Sam pull at her hair.

"She didn't say anything strange? Or out of the ordinary?" Sam asked gently.

Amy shook her head, looking into her glass of water. "No, nothing I can remember." Sam nodded and took a sip of her hot coffee, letting it warm her up from the inside out. Dean looked away, shaking his head slightly. He seemed frustrated. Another lead was turning out to provide just as few answers as the police had given them. Sam wanted to get answers just as badly as her brother, but that didn't mean she was going to be a dick about it. She wasn't going to make Amy feel bad for simply being honest. Sam narrowed her eyes at her brother, nudging his leg under the table lightly. He ignored her.

Sam turned back to Amy and smiled softly. "I like your necklace," she said, nodding at the silver pentagram hanging around her neck from a black leather chord. Amy looked down at it and smiled sadly, a tear falling down her cheek.

"Maria gave it to me." She laughed, wiping at her damp cheeks. "Mostly just to scare my parents. You know, with all that devil stuff."

Sam's lips twitched at her ignorance. Dean looked at Sam quizzically before she spoke again.

"Actually, it means just the opposite." The table was silent. Sam shifted in her seat a little awkwardly but decided the best way was to continue. She was already stuck in this situation, the least she could do is correct Amy's misconception. "A pentagram is a protection against evil. Really powerful. I mean, if you believe in that kind of thing." Amy and Rachel exchanged a look before Amy let her necklace drop back to its resting place. Dean leaned forward and broke the uncomfortable silence.

"Okay." Dean said sarcastically. He pat his sister on the back once then put his hand on the table. "Thank you _Unsolved Mysteries._" Dean looked over Rachael and Amy. "Here's the deal, ladies. The way Maria disappeared… _something's_ not right, so if you've heard anything…" Dean left his sentence open when Rachael and Amy exchanged another look, just as uncomfortable, but in a completely different way. Ever the observant one, Dean leaned forward a little more with rapt attention. "What is it?"

For the first time since coming inside, Rachael spoke. "Well, it's just… I mean, with all these girls going missing, people talk."

"What do they talk about?" Sam and Dean asked the question in unison, riveted on Rachael. Were they finally getting it? Was this the little nugget they'd been searching for?

Rachael shrugged and took a sip of her apple juice before answering. "It's kind of this local legend. This one girl, she found out that her husband was cheating on her with another woman and hung herself from the bridge into town. People say that she's taking her revenge out on other women in the hopes that she'll one day get her husband's lover. She died like, decades ago, but they say that she hitchhikes, and the people she gets a ride from disappear forever."

Sam looked over at Dean right as he looked at her. His expression was appropriately grim, but his eyes twinkled with excitement at finally catching a break. Sam was sure she looked no different to her brother. They were finally getting somewhere, though it made Sam unsettled to be so eager about the case. This was getting dangerous for her; they needed to wrap this up soon or Sam's resolve would start crumbling.

The pair of siblings thanked the girls and made up some excuse to leave. They two walked in silence back to the Impala and both sat in their seats for a long moment before Dean turned his car on.

They turned to each other and opened their mouths, once again, their minds on the same wavelength. At the same time, they both said, "The library," and smiled. Dean pulled out onto the main street and headed to their next destination. Sam hoped to God this library had computers, sifting through newspaper articles and books of useless crap was a real bitch sometimes.

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><p><strong>Alrighty! So there you have it. <strong>

**Seriously people. Read. Review. Please? I'm begging here. Shamelessly. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE GIVE ME SOME REVIEWS! ...Please?**


	6. One of Us

**Hello Chickadees!**

**As always, reviews are much appreciated, and accepted with love and eternal gratitude! I'm having a lot of fun with this so far, are you? **

**This chapter is shorter, in comparison to the other ones, so I'm thinking of putting chapter seven up tomorrow. (:**

**Your friendly neighbor,**

**MD**

**_DISCLAIMER: I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters. Some dialogue has been taken from the original episode and a script for the pilot episode that was discarded for accuracy purposes only. The rest of the dialogue is all me. Happy reading!_**

**On a side note... sl! I want to give you a special shout out for that fantabulous review you gave me! I took everything you said to heart, and I appreciate all the time you took to write it out. My thinking behind AC/DC was that she grew up hearing nothing BUT that kind of music, so it grew on her and she also coveted the adoration for that genre of music. I just chose AC/DC randomly because I was going through a phase of listening to nothing but their music when I was writing this. I can't tell you how happy it made me when you said that Sam is tough, but not quite up to badass yet. That's exactly how I was trying to write her out in this, so I'm really relieved that I got it across!**

**Thanks to everyone for all the reviews, they each made me smile and warmed my heart! Please keep sending me the love!**

**Peace.**

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><p>Sam tapped her foot impatiently while Dean typed out a search on the library's computer slowly. How was it possible that he could pull out a gun and fire off three rounds faster than Sam could think, but when it came to a computer it took him five minutes just to open a web browser? One thing was for sure, Sam's brother never ceased to surprise her.<p>

After the third try at typing 'Centennial Bridge' Sam had had enough. She rolled her chair over next to his and reached for the mouse.

"Lemme try." Dean slapped her hand away, and Sam glared at her brother's profile.

"I _got_ it." Now it was just to spite him that Sam promptly shoved his chair away from the screen and rolled hers in front of the monitor with an affronted sniff. She heard Dean scoff and roll back over next to her. Her lightly slapped her shoulder, frowning at his younger sister.

"Really, Dean, it's like watching a monkey type." Sam muttered, taking over the keyboard. Her brother huffed his annoyance and pinched her arm lightly, but Sam chose to ignore it.

"You're such a control freak." Sam chose to ignore him as she highlighted the search bar. Dean had opened a page for the local newspaper, the _Jericho Herald_, to do a mass search through all of their catalogued articles. In no time at all Sam had typed in "Female suicide Centennial Bridge" and gotten the only related article pulled up. She smirked, gloating, at a very annoyed and unamused Dean.

"So you're a net jockey. Congrats." Sam's smirk only grew at her brother's gruff nature. He always had to be the winner, but it just made it that much sweeter when she won. Sam skimmed over the article for pertinent information and after a minute summed up the article for her brother who was picking away at something on the desk, bored.

"This was 1981. 'Constance Welch, 24, jumps off Centennial Bridge. Rope snapped her neck before breaking. Police found her downriver three hours after she died.' Says here that the reason she jumped off was due to severe depression. ''She had been managing just fine until today. I don't really know what made her snap,' said husband Joseph Welch.'" Sam clicked on the picture of Joseph and it enlarged. The guy had his hand covering his mouth and his eyes screwed shut. He had his other hand wrapped around his stomach and was bent forward just the slightest bit. She knew that the newspaper had chosen this to try and show his sorrow at the life of his wife, Constance, but looking at Joseph in the old black-and-white picture, Sam thought it looked more like he was laughing than trying to hold back sobs.

"That guy look sincere to you?" Dean asked. He sounded disconcerted. Sam shook her head, troubled. Joseph could have very well told the press that his wife had suffered from long-term depression and planted drugs as proof, and no one would have been the wiser. Or he could be telling the truth and the story they'd heard from Rachael had gotten so convoluted with time that it was more fiction than fact. Sam couldn't tell which avenue to pursue, and she wouldn't be able to get a good read on the husband from a picture. She'd have to be in front of him and talk with him to know if he was faking this grief or not. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but the human body spoke a language worth more than that. One just had to know how to listen.

"Yeah, me neither." Sam chewed on her lip for a moment before closing out the page and spinning her chair around. She hopped out of the chair and headed for the exit without looking back at Dean. He jogged to catch up and slowed down to match her pace when he was next to her.

"Whoa, wait up. Where're you going?" Sam smiled at the librarian behind the desk in thanks and pushed the door open, walking back out onto the street and towards the Impala.

"If we head back for the bridge we'll get there by nightfall. The police will be gone by then, and maybe we can find something that they wouldn't think of as evidence." Dean mulled this over in his head for a moment before speaking.

"Something supernatural, you mean." Sam nodded. Dean grinned and ruffled her hair for the first time since he'd shown up in her apartment last night, only this time Sam didn't swat his hand away. She grinned meekly up at him from under his hand. "Good job, Sammy. It's kinda like riding a bike, innit?" Sam rolled her eyes, though the smile was still in place, and pulled open the passenger door. She refused to admit to Dean that she was enjoying herself. She wasn't going to let herself enjoy this. If she started to get back in the groove and have fun while Hunting, how was she ever going to be able to return to the monotony of college and law school?

It wasn't long before Dean had the Impala out in traffic, headed straight for the Centennial Bridge.

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><p>The sound of rushing water and a few chirping crickets filled the cool night air as Sam and Dean walked along the road on the bridge. Maria's car was gone, but that was okay. Both the siblings knew there wasn't any evidence to be found in the car. Honestly, Sam wasn't even sure what she was looking for <em>now<em>, but she knew that she had to look. This was her idea after all. Her eyes, long since adjusted to the dark, roamed over the pavement, looking for anything that didn't belong. Dean was walking a little ways ahead of her, looking out over the river. Eventually he just walked over to the metal rail and leaned down on it.

"So this is where Constance took the big jump." Sam walked over to her brother and rested her weight on the rail next to him. She nudged his shoulders with her gently and he looked at her before nudging her back. Sam grinned and looked down at the river. Her smile quickly fell from her face as she stared down at the rapids and jagged rocks that rose up above the water. If the rope or whatever Constance had used on her neck had snapped under her weight, she would have fallen down and hit her head on the rocks, drowning in her unconsciousness. And if the rope had held, then her neck would have snapped. Both sounded painful, one sounded wet. Sam cringed.

"You think Dad was here?" She asked quietly. Dean exhaled for a long moment and then shrugged.

"Well, he's chasing the same story, and we're chasing him." Dean turned away from the edge and kept walking along the edge, his eyes trained on the road beneath him. Sam took one last glance at the water before following after her brother.

"Okay, so now what?"

"Now we keep digging 'til we find him," Dean raised his hands in exasperation, "might take a while." Sam stopped, her mouth settling into a hard line.

"Dean," her brother stopped walking, "I told you, I've gotta be back by –"

"By Monday." Sam was a little annoyed that he'd interrupted her but she simply nodded when he turned to look at her. "Right. The interview."

"Yeah. The interview." Dean nodded, looking at his sister pensively.

"Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just gonna become some lawyer?" Sam bristled at his tone of voice, at the disbelief she heard there. She didn't want to have this argument, but the fact that Dean couldn't seem to even accept it as a possibility was starting to get on her nerves.

"Maybe. Why not?" Sam challenged him, squaring her shoulders and putting her hands on her hips.

"Really, Sammy? A _lawyer_? You'd work with those useless cops we met earlier today, and that sounds appealing to you? Not even _ mentioning_ your dear boyfriend. I mean, does Roger know the truth about you? Does he know about the things you've done?" Sam scowled. What, did he think she was stupid? Of course she hadn't told him. If (and that was a big if) Roger had believed her, she would have terrified the life right out of him with that things she'd seen and done. Hunting had messed Sam up. She had done stuff that society would probably see as morally wrong without a second thought, only because her father had told her it was the right thing to do. And she had enjoyed it. Ethics be damned, she had been a good Hunter, and she'd enjoyed her work where other would have ran screaming. Those creatures were evil, Sam and her family were good (by comparison) and it was their responsibility to keep them from overwhelming the world. It wasn't until Sam had met Roger that she'd realized exactly _ how_ screwed up her childhood had made her.

"No," Sam spat at her brother, "and he's not ever _going_ to know." Dean raised his eyebrows pointedly at her.

"Well, _that's_ healthy." Sam glared at him and crossed her arms. "You can pretend all you want, Sammy, but sooner or later, you're gonna hafta face up to who you really are." Dean turned back around and continued walking and inspecting the road for any clues that could help them on their Hunt. Sam stared at his back, affronted by the arrogance he displayed in presuming to know who she "really was." She wasn't like her father and brother, dammit. She wasn't a Hunter anymore. She was a student. Samantha Winchester, age 22, finishing her BA at Stanford, applying for their law school program. That's who she was now. Not Samantha Winchester, resident Hunter and killer of all things evil.

"And who is that, exactly, Dean?" She stomped after her brother, widening her steps to catch up to him.

"You're one of us." He said it like it was the most obvious answer in the world. Sam growled, annoyed by him and his presumptions, and walked until she was directly in front of him and he had to stop. She glared up at her brother.

"No. I'm _not_ like you. This is _not_ going to be my life!"

"Well, you have a responsibility." Dean said, matter-of-fact. Sam rolled her eyes.

"To What? To Dad?" Dean glared at her and crossed his arms over his chest.

"To the six billion people on this planet that would be just left for the pickings if there weren't Hunters out there like Dad or me." Dean took a hand and poked Sam harshly on her shoulder. "Or _you_."

"But I didn't _ask_ for this, Dean. I didn't _ask_ to be raised like a warrior; I should have a choice in what I do with my life." Sam knew she was starting to sound a little whiny, but she was so irritated that she didn't care. "I'm not like _you_, Dean. I'm not this perfect little soldier; I can't bury my emotions like you can and just pretend I enjoy slaughtering whatever freak I get my fucking hands on. I can't separate myself from the job, you know that better than anyone, man. I want to fight evil in my own way. With the help of the law. It's a lot easier than credit card scams and fake government IDs."

Dean flinched a little when Sam indirectly called him out on his problem with dealing with his emotions, but he quickly buried the hurt behind a mask of his irritation at Sam.

"You know," he growled, "you're even more of a selfish, stuck-up, little bratty _punk_ than I remember." Sam huffed, both hurt and irritated by her brother's insult, and looked off to the side. She froze. Where her brother and she had been looking at the river only a few minutes before stood a woman wearing a tattered yellow dress, a frayed piece of rope hanging from her bruised neck. Her curly brown hair almost touched her waist, and her pale skin glowed in the soft moonlight.

"Dean." That was all Sam had to say to effectively end the growing argument. Dean turned and looked behind him and stopped when he saw the woman. There was a heavy, tense moment of silence before the woman turned around and bore her eyes into Sam's. Sam gasped under the weight of her gaze.

Her eyes were dark, black, and full of such hurt and rage that Sam stumbled under the weight of it. Sam could see so much emotion, so much hate, boiling under the surface that it was a wonder her legs weren't shaking. She had the itchy feeling of little, tiny insects crawling up her skin and all the hair on her neck and arms stood on end. The longer Sam stared at the woman she recognized as Constance from the article's picture, the longer she could literally feel Constance's pain crushing the life out of her lungs. And then, all of a sudden, the connection was gone, and Dean was running towards the spot where Constance had been just a moment ago. Sam blinked, her mind taking a little bit to function correctly again, and she realized that Constance had jumped over the edge to the waiting rocks below.

Sam jogged over to where Dean stood, still shaky from their recent encounter and looked down at the river with her brother. Their argument was completely forgotten for the moment.

"Where'd she go?" asked Sam, her voice quivering just a little. Dean shook his head, looking frustrated.

"I don't know." All of a sudden the Impala, down at the opposite end of the bridge, turned on, the engine flaring to life, and the headlights illuminating the whole road. Both of the siblings jumped and spun towards the car.

"What the – ?" muttered Dean, his face the epitome of confusion. Sam looked at the car nervously at its engine began to rev a few times.

"Who's driving your car?" Without a word Dean reached into his right pants' pocket and pulled out his ring of keys, jingling them in the air. Sam looked at the keys, then the back to the car and gulped, the blood draining from her face. The car revved one last time and then just sat there, waiting.

"Dean?" Sam whispered.

"Hn?" He grunted.

"I think we should –"

"Run? Yeah, that sounds like a good idea." Sam didn't need to be told twice. She whirled round and ran as fast as she could. Dean followed, in hot pursuit, and she could hear the car screeching into action, accelerating quickly after them. Sam panted and her chest burned but she kept pushing herself. It wasn't doing any good, though. They were trying to outrun a car; Dean's Impala no less.

Throwing a prayer up to whoever was listening that she didn't break her neck, Sam headed for the edge of the bridge and propelled herself over. Dean, not realizing Sam's plan right away ran past where his sister jumped off before catching on and leaping over the edge himself, falling straight to the river. Back on the bridge the Impala screeched a halt just before ramming into the metal railing and sat there for a minute before shutting itself off. The noise died away and the lights blinked out, the only sounds the rushing of the water below and a few chirping crickets.

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><p><strong>So! Reviews! Please, please, please! I beg of you!<strong>


	7. Family Reunion

**Hello my beauties!**

**I hope all of you are having a very merry Christmas indeed! (:**

**As promised, here is chapter seven. Only three left, and then the Relapse is done! I've also written one for Wendigo, but I haven't decided if I want to post that one too. What does everyone else think? **

**As always, reviews are love for me, so leave me some love! :D**

**Happy holidays!**

**MD**

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><p>Sam clung to the pipe she'd grabbed on her way down for dear life, panting hard. She hadn't jumped so far that she got too far out and the small pipe she hadn't known was here ran the entire length of the bridge, and when Sam's had had felt the cold metal, she'd instantly latched on, cutting her hand on some debris she hadn't seen and her shoulder burning with the sudden force of her stop. Dean had flown right by her landed in the water below with a big splash. She was glad he hadn't hit the giant, pointy rocks, but worried there were some under the murky water that weren't visible from the bridge.<p>

With a lot of pulling, and grunting, and swinging around like a piñata, Sam finally managed to pull herself up so that she was sitting on the pipe. She could easily get back on the bridge from here. It was just a small jump – or long step, depending on your perspective – away from her spot on the thin pipe. In fact, there was a giant coil that she grabbed a hold of to steady her balance. Now that she was stable, Sam looked down at the rushing water below, looking for any signs of her brother.

"Dean!" She called out, worry starting to make her stomach twist up in knots. Her brow furrowed. No answer. "_Dean_!" She tried louder this time. A lot louder. _'Please, oh please, God, let him be alive!' _Sam let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and relief washed over her when she saw Dean crawl out of the water, onto the bank and flop on his back, his breathing labored. He looked muddy and extremely grumpy, but she couldn't help but be grateful for him, in all his crankiness.

"What?" He snapped. Sam smiled down at her brother.

"Hey, are you all right?" Dean raised his hand a limply gave her a thumbs up before letting it fall back down to the ground.

"I'm super." Sam giggled softly at her brother's sarcasm and shook her head. Now that she knew he was alive and okay, she noticed that her right shoulder and hand were both throbbing, and the latter stung very bad. She looked down at her palm. There was a long gash cutting across her hand, width wise. Sam squinted in the dark around the area where she thought her hand had held onto the pipe to look for what could have caused her injury. She spotted a sharp and rather long piece of dirty glass embedded in the metal of the pipe and groaned. If her hand got infected she was gonna be pissed. The muscles in her shoulder must have been pulled a wrong way or too hard when she'd grabbed the pipe and put her fall to a very sudden stop. That was gonna be sore for a few days.

"I think your girl's stopped her homicidal tendencies for now." Sam called down. She saw Dean sit up very fast and then glare up at the bridge. A shadow passed over his face and he spluttered in rage. He looked furious, possibly even murderous.

"Bitch drove my car!" Sam bit back her laughter and turned her face so Dean couldn't see her grin. She could hear him starting to stomp up the embankment and back to the highway at the start of the bridge. Sam stood up cautiously, still holding onto the coil and looked over at the Impala.

The lights were off and the engine was silent, but she was still suspicious. Sam placed her foot on the overhang on the outside of the rail cautiously and stood there for a moment. Nothing. Slowly, she swung her legs over, sitting on the rail, and scooted down until there was enough pavement for her to stand on, and lightly jumped off, landing right next to Dean's car. Her brother was jogging over to where his car sat, now completely silent. He stopped next to Sam, in front of the driver's door and put his hand on top of the roof, petting the cold metal affectionately.

"Are you okay sweetie? That nasty ghost didn't hurt you did she? I'll never let anyone hurt you again, baby!" Sam giggled once more as Dean tried to console his car's favor back. Dean turned to his sister at her laughter, his hand still resting on his car. "Shut up, Sammy, this is serious! My baby could be hurt!" Dean gasped at the revelation, his face suddenly terrified. He ran over to the hood and wrenched it open. He didn't even seem to notice that he was dripping wet, or that he was covered in revoltingly smelly river grime. Apparently Jericho didn't keep their rivers nice and clean. Sam could gag at the smell, but all Dean did was stick his head into her engine and start looking for anything out of the ordinary. Lucky for him, Constance had stopped the car right under one of the only working floodlights at this end of the bridge, so Dean had just enough light to peruse over the engine with.

Sam waited until Dean finished and shut the hood. She walked over next to him and sat against the hood.

"Car all right?" She asked. Dean sighed and ran a hand through his wet hair.

"Yeah, whatever she did to it, it seems all right now. That Constance chick, what a _bitch_!" Dean shouted this last word and Sam grinned, rolling her shoulder. She walked back to her bag, still in the backseat and pulled out her small first aid kit.

"Thank God I brought this along…" Sam muttered. She unzipped the small case and pulled out some hydrogen peroxide and tissue. She unscrewed the cap with her left hand and poured a little bit of the liquid onto the cut on her hand. She set the bottle on top of the car and gingerly cleaned her hand with the tissue.

"She doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure." Sam muttered thoughtfully. Dean nodded as she pulled out a large band aid from her kit. She opened the wrapping and pulled it out. She put the band aid on and examined her work. Good enough. She crumpled up the wrapper and used tissue, shoving them in her pocket until she could get to a garbage can and put the peroxide and first aid kit away. Sam walked over to sit next to Dean on the hood of the car once more as her brother let out a long, frustrated sigh.

"So where's the trail go from here, genius?" Sam raised an eyebrow questioningly at her brother. He simply threw his arms up in the air. Finally, Dean noticed how filthy he was and looked at his hands and then his clothes in disgust, groaning. Sam sniffed pointedly a couple times at her brother. "You smell like a toilet." Dean looked down at his clothes again and then over at Sam, hanging his head.

Sam shook her head and chuckled. She stood up and walked around to the passenger door and opened it. "Come on, Dean. Let's go find a crappy motel so you can shower and I can sleep." Dean slid in next to her and gently turned the car on. The sound of the engine reminded Sam of the Impala's recent possession, and she laughed nervously. Dean patted his car twice before pulling away and heading back for Jericho. It would be morning when they finally got back in to town, and then they had to actually look for a place to stay. Sam hoped the adrenaline in her system from her scare with the car and seeing Constance wore off soon; she wasn't used to pulling all-nighters anymore.

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><p>It took a little bit, but by 7:45, Dean was pulling into the parking lot of the only skeevy motel in town. Sam got out of the car blearily and stumbled after her brother, doing her best not to trip over her own feet. She shoved her hands deep in her pockets and grumbled at how bright the sun was this morning. She hadn't been able to get any sleep on the way back into town. Dean held the door open for Sam and she bumbled on in to the small room where an elderly and balding man was reading a book behind the reception desk, looking quite bored with himself.<p>

Dean walked up to the counter and stood there for a moment. The man didn't look up from his book, seemingly not catching on to his waiting customers. Dean gritted his teeth and scratched at the crusted grime on his skin. He had dried off for the most part a little while ago, but that only made the filth itchy. When the old man still hadn't noticed the two people before him, Dean pulled out his wallet and "Hector Aframian" credit card and set it down on the counter in front of the guy.

"One room, please," said Dean curtly. The old man blinked at the credit card and looked at Dean and Sam seeing them for the first time. Sam blinked, her eyes feeling heavy, and swaying on her feet slightly. The old man looked back down at the credit card and squinted at the name.

"You guys having a reunion or somethin'?" he drawled. Dean raised an eyebrow at the name.

"Whaddya talkin' 'bout?" Sam slurred. The man looked up at the pair and began to book them a room.

"That other guy, Bert Aframian." Sam and Dean perked up slightly at the name. "He came in and bought out a room for the whole month." The man handed Dean back his card along with keys to room two. Dean took them and looked over his shoulder at Sam. He raised his eyebrows pointedly. She nodded.

"And, uh, what room did you give him?" The guy gave Dean the once over, taking in his haphazard appearance and narrowing his eyes. However, right when it seemed he wasn't going to tell them, he shrugged and picked his book up again.

"Number four."

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><p>Picking a lock was, probably, one of the only things Sam had taken away from "the life" and carried over to her college life. She was good at it – better than Dean was anyway – and hey, who thought that picking locks wasn't a cool trick to have? Besides cops. So, it was Sam who crouched down in front of hotel room four's door and jimmied with the lock in the doorknob until she heard the satisfying click.<p>

She cracked the door open when she'd finished with the lock and stuffed the tools into her jacket pocket, standing up and stepping into the room. She gulped and whirled around and grabbed Dean, who had been keeping a look out, by the back neck portion of his jacket and yanked him into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Dean stumbled and almost tripped over his own feet, and probably would have yelled at her if he hadn't been stopped by what he saw on the walls.

Articles, personal notes, pictures and masking tape labels covered almost every inch of open wall space. Books were stacked all over the floor and on two chairs by the only window, some open to certain pages, some thrown haphazardly around the room, some left untouched in piles. An empty and open suitcase rested on the unkempt bed along with several shirts and scattered files. Candles and vials of what looked like different oils were all over the room, and several more files were spewing their guts on the dresser.

"Whoa," Sam breathed. Dean walked over to a lamp sitting on the dresser and turned it on. Sam looked down at the floor and inspected the white half-circle enclosing the door. Dean picked up a half-eaten burger, sniffing at the rancid meat, and gagged, tossing it in the trash.

"I don't think he's been here for a couple days, at least," Dean remarked, looking once again at the walls. Sam picked up some of the white grain and rubbed it in between her fingers. Well, that was interesting. And unsettling.

"Salt." Sam glanced over at the chair next to her. "Cat's eye shells. Dad was scared of something. He was worried, trying to keep something from coming in." Sam stood up and brushed the salt grains off on her pants, walking over to where Dean squinting at a map with several seemingly random places marked in an 'x' with red marker. Her sleep deprived brain complained at the loud color. "Whaddya got?"

Dean shook his head and shrugged. "Nothing I can make out. I swear, the guy still lives like a Marine; he writes in friggin' code." Sam wasn't surprised, honestly. Her dad was the most paranoid man she'd ever met, and that said something because she'd met some pretty paranoid people when she had still been a Hunter.

She left Dean to stare at the map and walked over to the adjacent wall. Dean was right. Pictures, references, notes, everything was put together in ways that made no sense, but Sam knew that it made sense to the old man. Strangely, though, the only thing that pertained to the case in town was a printed version of the same article they're read in the library her dad had taped to the wall. The area around it was blank. No notes, no nothing; not any clues on anything to do with Constance Welch. The only evidence that her dad had even read the thing was a big red circle around the picture of Joseph Welch. So if that article was the only case-related thing… then what the hell was the rest of the crap on the walls? Sam blinked her eyes, a small flicker of annoyance speaking up before snuffing out in the face of her fatigue. She was too tired to be angry at her dad right now. She just wanted to get all this talking shit over with and then fall on that bed and go comatose, become dead to the world. Preferably for a good ten hours.

"I think we should go talk to the husband. If he's still alive," Sam tapped his picture thoughtfully. Dean walked up behind her and stared at the article for a moment. He patted her shoulder and walked farther back into the room, heading for the bathroom. Good, the guy needed a shower something awful, and that would give her time to pass out.

"After some food and sleep. Why don't you see if you can find an address? I'm gonna get cleaned up." Sam nodded, if only to shut up her brother. She had no intention of looking up this Joseph Welch right now. The pillows and dirty motel sheets were calling her name. Sleep sounded superb right now. Sam's thoughts wandered as her brother turned to walk away, and she thought for a moment of the car barreling towards them and how Constance had taken control. Sam shivered when she remembered Constance. Her stare had been unlike anything Sam had ever experienced. To think that a person could have that much anger, even in the afterlife was rather shocking. Although, thinking back to the argument she'd had with Dean last night, maybe it wasn't so big of a shock after all. Sam bit her lip, looking guiltily at her brother's short dirty hair and lightly-freckled nose.

"Hey, Dean?" Dean stopped and turned to his sister. "What I said earlier, about you having no emotions, I'm sorry, I–" Sam stopped when Dean held up his hand and shook his head slightly.

"No chick flick moments." Sam rolled her eyes, grinning and threw up her hands in defeat. Friggin ridiculous, that's what her brother was. Strong, yeah. Smart, it's been known to happen. Easy to talk to? HA. Try eating yourself out of a stone prison, and then maybe you'll understand a fraction of the difficulty that is having a heart-to-heart with one Dean Winchester.

"All right. Jerk." Dean lowered his hand, his eyes twinkling with mirth and mischief.

"Bitch." And with that he walked over to the bathroom and shut the door, smirking the whole way. Sam snorted and shook her head. Here she was, trying to give him an honest apology for once and he just shrugged it off with a joke. Whatever, he could be all macho for as long as he wanted, she wanted some sleep.

Sam shoved the suitcase and papers littering the bed onto the floor and stared at the sheets suspiciously. She weighed how tired she was against the possible diseases that could be infesting the blankets. She decided she was too tired to care and flopped down on the bed, pulling the blankets up to her shoulders and turning away from the window and the light streaming through the curtains. Sam closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her last thought before she slept was how she hoped she didn't have a nightmare this time, she could do with some actual rest for a change.

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><p><strong>Reviews? Much appreciated!<strong>


	8. Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

**Hello, lovelies!**

**Back with another chapter! We're getting close to the end, can you feel the tension rising? I'm both excited and hesitant to post the last chapter. It was so much fun writing this that I'm sad to see it go. Plus, this being my first fanfic ever, I have a special soft spot for it in my heart. But alas, all good things come to an end.**

**So! You all know what to do! You read, and when you get down to the bottom, press that beautiful review button, and leave me some love!**

**Hope you all had a good Christmas!**

**Yours,**

**MD**

**_DISCLAIMER:_ _I don't own any part of Supernatural, this is merely a piece of fanfiction. Credit for the show goes to Eric Kripke and all the beautiful writers involved. Bits from the actual episode and a script for the episode that was discarded are used for accuracy purposes only. Enjoy!_  
><strong>

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><p>"Sam." Dean called out to his sister, leaning against the wall. She didn't even flinch. "Hey, <em>Sam<em>!" His voice was a little louder this time. Her arm twitched. Dean looked up and sighed. He crawled on to the bed and saddled up right next to her. Her even breathing seemed peaceful, and her face looked so much younger when she was asleep. Dean got up right next to her ear and took a deep breath.

"HEY SAMANTHA!" Dean shouted in her ear, effectively waking her up. Well… as long as waking up meant her eyes snapped open, she screamed and fell off the bed in shock. Dean fell back on his back laughing loud and hard at the expression on his sister's face. Her mouth was open wide and her eyes looked like big hazel blue saucers. She seemed downright confused as to how she was on the floor. She sat like that, tangled up in the sheets and flat on her ass for a few moments before her sleep-addled brain worked out what had happened.

Sam pulled her legs out from the sheets and stood up slowly as Dean's snorting laughter died down to giggles and then chuckles. Her ear was ringing and her shoulder and hand hurt all over again from her landing, thanks to Dean. Not to mention she'd been so tired that she hadn't had any dreams whatsoever and had been getting some serious rest. Son of a bitch was dead in her book.

"I am going to fucking kill you, Dean Winchester. Mark my words." Dean rolled off the bed, the last stray chuckles stoking the fire of Sam's anger.

"Well, if you wake up the first time I call you, then this won't happen again." Sam just glared daggers at her brother and his totally unapologetic grin.

"Seriously. I am going to _end_ you. And if I get another migraine because of you then I'm going after your car too." Dean's smile disappeared at that and his face grew serious.

"You leave her out of this. Look, I'm sorry, okay? Won't happen again." Sam closed her eyes, not believing her brother for one bit. But still, he had apologized, and for the time being his fear of her damaging his car was enough to keep him in check. Probably long enough until Monday, and she'd be gone by then anyway. She could sleep all she wanted when she got home, no use staying angry at him; it'd just distract her from finishing things up in Jericho.

"Whatever, Dean." Sam rolled her right shoulder which was sore and stiff. "How long have I been asleep?" Dean looked at his sister, trying to gauge if her anger at him had really faded. He shrugged after a moment, running a hand through his short spikes.

"Just over an hour. I got out of the shower right before I… ah, _woke you up_." Dean couldn't help the silent chuckle that he tried to hide with a cough, but Sam wasn't buying it. She rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I'm starving. I'm gonna grab something to eat at that diner down the street. You want anything?"

"No." She wasn't particularly hungry right now, just tired. Sam had forgotten how being constantly tired was part of working a case. Her body wasn't used to the lack of sleep and was putting her rest above everything else. This one weekend was going to throw off her usual schedule for days, man. What had possessed her to come on this stupid trip anyway? Her soft down comforter at home sounded so much better than being chased by Dean's Impala, injuring herself, and losing some much-needed sleep.

Dean pulled on his leather coat and walked to the door. He waggled his eyebrows at her and grinned.

"You sure? Aframian's buying."

"You know what? I think I'll pass." Dean simply shrugged and walked out the door, shutting it behind him. Sam debated falling back asleep, but she knew that Dean would be pissed if she wasn't coherent when he got back. Sam still hadn't found out if Joseph was alive, and if he was, where he lived liked Dean had told her to do. Besides, once that was over and done with, maybe she could put her brain to good use and try to make sense of the chaos her Dad had put together. Sam groaned, unhappy. She'd barely been awake ten minutes and she already felt drained.

Suddenly, her phone rang. Sam pulled it out of her pocket and looked at the caller ID. It was Dean. Hold on, he got that cell phone recently, she hadn't had that number. When had he put it in her phone? How did he get _hers_? Confused, Sam flipped her cell open and pressed the button to pick it up.

"Since when have I had you most recent cell number?" she asked.

"Shut up. Five-0. Take off." Fuck. The police. Sam walked over to the window and discreetly pulled back the curtain. She saw Dean hunched over to hide his cell phone with his back to the two approaching officers. It was Officer Moller and his young partner from yesterday. Double fuck.

"What about you?"

"Uh, just get out. Go find Dad." The line clicked dead just as Moller and his partner reached Dean. Sam stuffed her phone in her pocket and quickly scanned the room for anything they might need later. She spotted Dean's ring of keys on the dresser and snatched them as she ran back to where the bathroom was and, success! A window. It was tiny and she'd need to stand on the toilet to get through it, but if she turned just so…

Sam quietly shut the bathroom door and locked it. She got up on the toilet and shoved the window up as far as she could. It was gonna be tight, but she'd do it. Sam gripped the bottom of the window and heaved herself up. It took some well-timed wiggling for her shoulders to get past the frame, but after that she slipped through easy enough and dropped down on the ground below.

Dammit, Sam had known using the fake ID of a Federal Marshal had been too risky. Her brother's cover had probably been blown, and they were here to arrest her brother for impersonating a government official, and that would be before they saw the motel room. Sam jumped to her feet and took off running. She hopped the fence separating the motel from someone's backyard and hid behind a big fir tree. She leaned against the trunk for a moment to catch her breath and thanked the Lord for her dark brown hair. Having Dean's dirty blonde hair would have given her away if she tried to catch a glimpse at the window she'd just escaped through. However, with her color hair, if she kept it over her face and didn't move out from behind the trunk too much, she'd blend right in.

Sam peeked around the trunk and saw the young officer looking through the open window with a frown, trying to find her. He was gone after a few heartbeats, though, and when he was Sam resumed her trek away from the motel. She'd come back for the car later. Dean didn't like anyone else to drive his car, but she knew he would like his car getting taken even less than his sister driving it. He was liable to shoot someone if it got taken.

Sam hopped another fence and continued to travel across different properties until she'd gotten close to downtown. She crept into a small café, pulling up the hood on her jacket and sat down at a table with her back against the window. She'd have some coffee to wake up, and maybe a scone before heading back the Impala. Besides, the police would keep a close eye on her brother. He'd suffer through some annoying questions, but they'd make sure he didn't cause any trouble. For once.

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><p>Sam turned off Dean's car and stuffed the keys in her pants. She'd gone back and gotten her brother's car, just like she'd planned and then stopped in front of a payphone. The local phonebook had given her Joseph Welch's address and so here she was, parking the Impala in a chop shop as she went ahead to question Constance's husband about her death. Her day was looking just fan-fucking-tastic; she hadn't nearly had enough coffee for this.<p>

When Sam got to Joseph's front door she knocked three times and waited. It took longer than she'd expected, and was about to knock again when a man opened the door. The man's hair had started to turn gray around his temples, and there were a lot more wrinkles on his face than in the picture, but that was definitely Joseph. He wore a tank top and a flannel button-up that he kept open. His jeans had grease stains, and he had a baseball cap on. The man looked ordinary enough, though a little on the short side, but Sam was still wary. The man in the picture she'd seen still looked like he was laughing.

"Hi," Sam said with a smile, "are you Joseph Welch?" He nodded and put a grease rag in his back pocket.

"Yeah, I am."

"Has a man come by here recently, scruffy pepper black hair, brown eyes, a little over six feet tall?" Sam didn't want to blow her dad's cover. If he'd been here he'd probably been some kind of journalist or FBI agent or something so that he could ask about the case, but she had to be sure which one he'd gone with.

"Yeah, he was here. Came by about three or four days ago. Said he was a reporter." Sam smiled politely and nodded. Joseph stepped out onto the porch and the two of them slowly began walking back to the Impala.

"That's right. We're working on a story together." Joseph looked at her sourly.

"Well I don't what the hell kinda story you're working on. The questions he asked me–"

"About your late wife, Constance?" Sam finished. Joseph's lips twitched. He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground.

"He asked me where she was _buried_." Sam studied Joseph for a long minute. If he was trying to make her think he was uncomfortable, he was doing a piss-poor job of it. He looked totally relaxed. No tense muscles, hunched shoulders or fidgety hands. Sam felt a slightly more inclined to believe Rachael's side of the story.

"And where was that again?" Joseph looked over at Sam, suspicious. He stopped walking.

"What, I gotta go through this again?" Sam shrugged her shoulders.

"It's fact-checking. If you don't mind." She looked right into his eyes and narrowed her a little. "Just want to make sure we're getting the right story, is all." Joseph broke eye contact first and looked down at his shuffling feet. He ducked his head, obscuring the view of his face with the bill of his hat and huddled into his own body a little. Bingo. _Now_ he looked genuinely uncomfortable.

"In a plot," he muttered, "behind my ol' place over on Breckenridge."

"Why did you move?" Joseph hesitated. They were getting into unpleasant territory for him.

"Fresh start, I guess." He shrugged his shoulders. Sam and Joseph had almost reached the Impala when Sam got in front of him and stopped. Joseph took a moment before looking back up at her eyes.

"Mr. Welch, did you ever remarry?" Joseph frowned and nodded.

"Yeah. Just over a year after my Constance died. She ain't 'round no more, though." Sam got a sinking feeling and refrained from biting her lip out of habit.

"I'm so sorry to hear that. What happened to her?" Joseph narrowed his eyes at Sam.

"I don't see how this has anything to do with Constance."

"No, now it's merely friendly curiosity." He paused for a moment before shaking his head and sighing.

"She left me." Sam breathed a mental sigh of relief. So she was probably still alive. At least that was something. Good enough for Sam, anyway.

"So you and Constance," Sam changed the topic and Joseph shifted his weight awkwardly, "you two had a happy marriage?" Joseph didn't answer her question at first. His lips narrowed just a little and his mouth quirked as he thought about his answer. Sam waited patiently for his answer, pulling out Dean's keys and jingling them in her hand.

"Yeah. Yeah, we did. Definitely." It would have been more convincing of him, really, to look her in the eyes as he said that. Looking to the left like Joseph had when he'd answered her was a tell-tale sign of lying. Not a happy marriage, then. So Rachael probably had it right, and Joseph _had_ cheated on her. Her grief and anger had driven her to suicide. Maybe the woman he had remarried had been his lover when Joseph had been with Constance. Who knew? What Sam knew, however, was that Joseph was lying, and that Constance was a undeniably a vengeful spirit. Her husband's unfaithfulness explained why she was only targeting young, blonde girls; that had most likely been what Joseph's mistress had looked like. Peachy. At least she'd gotten somewhere.

"All right. That's it. Thank you for your time," Sam plastered a smile on her face and Joseph visibly relaxed, returning her smile. Her nodded and turned around, walking back to his house. Sam's fake smile dropped the moment Joseph had walked away, and she stood there for a moment, pensive.

Her dad had to have found all this out on his own too, right? So then what the hell? Why hadn't he taken care of Constance by salting and burning the body when he'd had the chance? It looked like her dad had just up and left Jericho without a moment's notice. He'd just abandoned this town to Constance's anger and wrath. That was went against everything Sam's had taught her and believed in. No matter what came up, he'd always made sure the innocents were safe from harm. Sure, things got messy sometimes, but he always finished a case. What the hell had happened to make her dad flee the coop like that?

Sam frowned and turned back the Impala, getting behind the wheel. She turned the keys in the ignition, and soon she was pulling away and heading back for Jericho. She needed to think, and she needed something to eat. Sam knew Dean would be stuck in a room with some police officer trying to intimidate the truth out of him, and she knew she could give him the out he needed to get home free, but then Sam remembered this morning. The shout in her ear, the falling out of bed, confusion and anger, and how hard her brother had laughed at her.

'_Let him stew for a couple more hours,'_ thought Sam gleefully, _'I'll give him an opening when it's dark.'_

* * *

><p>"9-1-1, what is your emergency?" Sam took a sip of her water, washing down the clam chowder and caesar salad she'd had for dinner. Once more, she donned an English accent while she answered.<p>

"I was just driving through on Whiteford road when I heard shots fired. Could you send some people, it sounded dreadfully awful, and I'd hate to hear that anyone got hurt."

"And what's your name, ma'am?" Sam twiddled her spoon between her fingers, waiting for her waitress to come back with her change.

"Oh, I'd like to remain anonymous, if you don't mind. Ta!" She snapped her phone shut and stuffed it back in her pocket. Her waitress, Wendy, walked up and kindly set the check back on the table with her change and walked away. Sam left a couple dollars as a tip and got up and left. She walked down the street and around the corner where the Impala was waiting for her.

Sam settled into the car, but she didn't start it. Instead, she pulled out her phone and checked over her ignored text messages. Friends wishing her well, asking about her brother, wanting to know where she was, yadda, yadda, yadda. There were a couple from Roger, one telling her about bills she'd gotten in the mail, and another asking her yet again where she was. When all of her text messages had been cleared, she moved onto her voicemail. There was one from a call she'd missed from Roger while she'd been sleeping. Sam pressed the button and put the phone to her ear.

"_Hey, Sam, it's me. It's about 8:30 AM, Sunday morning. Just calling to check in and see when you'll be back. You haven't forgotten about the interview tomorrow, I hope. Please call me back, I'm worried. You're okay, right? Uh-oh, I gotta go, Iris is headed my way. Love you."_ Sam laughed quietly to herself. Iris was Roger's twin brother, but only in looks. Where Roger was soft spoken and thoughtful, Iris was loud and reckless. She was a dear though, and one of Sam's closer friends at Stanford; one of the few people she had truly felt comfortable enough around to relax and just be Sam with. Well, as much of 'Sam' as she allowed herself to be around those who didn't know the truth.

Her phone rang out in her hand, shrill, and startling Sam out of her nostalgia. She didn't recognize the number, but picked up the call anyway. One guess as to who it was.

"Hello?"

"Fake 9-1-1 phone call, Sammy? I dunno, that's pretty illegal." Sam smiled and giggled. It was Dean, of course. As she'd known, he'd used her opportunity to get away. Of course he had, she hadn't been worried that he'd be stuck handcuffed to a chair. Ha. Handcuffs didn't work on her brother; she'd tried.

"Yeah, yeah, har, har. Soon-to-be-law-student breaking the law, how hilarious is that? You're welcome." Sam said sarcastically. Dean chuckled a couple times then cleared his throat.

"Look, we gotta talk." His tone was surprisingly serious. It almost sounded grim. Sam brushed the thought from her head.

"Tell me about it. Rachael was right, Dean. Joseph was cheating on his wife, and I don't know for sure, but I think it's pretty safe to assume Constance found out and killed herself because of it. She's buried behind her old house, so that should have been Dad's next stop –"

"Sammy would shut up for a second?"

"-I just can't figure out why he hasn't destroyed the corpse yet." Dean sighed impatiently.

"Well that's what I'm trying to tell you. He's gone. Dad left Jericho." Sam was surprised to feel the disappointment when Dean said that. Rationally, she'd already known their dad wasn't here anymore, but apparently there was some small part hoping that they'd find him hiding somewhere nearby.

"What? How do you know?" Dean exhaled over the phone before answering.

"I've got his journal." Sam took the phone away from her ear for second and stared at it, dumbfounded. Surely he couldn't mean _the_ journal; not everything their dad had learned about the supernatural and put in a simple, brown leather-bound, three-ring journal. That was their dad's lifeline on each and every case. Sam couldn't remember all the time that little book had saved all their asses at the last moment, and their dad had spent all of Sam's life figuring out what to store in it by trial and error. Sam put the phone up to her ear again.

"Dad doesn't go anywhere without that thing!" There was an air of anxiety in her voice that hadn't been there before. Not only was their father missing, but he had essentially left behind what made him a Hunter. What the fuck was he thinking?

"Yeah, well, he did this time." Dean sounded just as nervous as Sam, and a little angry too, if she heard him correctly.

"What's it say?" Sam heard the soft rustling of pages as Dean answered her question.

"Ah, that same old ex-Marine crap. When he wants to let us know where he's going…?" Sam nodded, forgetting Dean couldn't see her.

"Coordinates. Where to?"

"I'm not sure yet." Sam bit her lip. This situation was a lot worse than she'd anticipated. She was glad… no. No, not glad. Relieved. Sam was _relieved_ that she'd agreed to come along. Dean had been correct when he'd said he'd needed her help.

"I don't understand. I mean, what shit could be so important that Dad would just skip out in the middle of a job? Dean, what the hell is going on?" Dean was quiet for a long time. His thoughts were probably somewhere along the same lines as Sam's. Confusion, and fear. Confusion as to what was going on that was obviously more important to their dad than Hunting, which he'd rather do that eat; fear because whatever it was that had pulled their dad away, it wasn't going to be anything good for the Winchesters.

"Look, you got my car, right?" Dean finally asked. Sam huffed at her brother.

"Duh."

"Don't use that tone with me. Just… look, come pick me up. Meet me in front of the theater where we met Amy." Before Sam could answer, Dean hung up the phone. Sam snapped her phone shut with an exasperated and indignant huff and tossed her phone next to her on the seat. She brought the car to life and pulled a U-turn, getting back on the main road. She drove down the street four or five blocks and stopped where Dean had told her to go. He was already leaning against the theater's wall, waiting. He jogged up to the car and opened up the passenger door, leaning down and looking at her behind his wheel with an uncomfortable expression.

"Move it." Sam listened and scooted down the bench seat and pulled the passenger door shut only because they didn't have the time to argue. It was already close to 10 PM and they had hours of driving to do before she got back to Stanford. As it stood, Sam probably wasn't going to get much sleep before her interview. God damn it.

Dean plopped down and set their dad's journal on the seat between them, pulling the Impala away and heading straight for Breckenridge Road. Sam leaned her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes, exhausted. She'd been slept maybe three, four hours tops in the last two days? How was Dean still even a functioning human being?

"You said this chick was buried behind the house?" Sam grunted. She didn't have the energy for speech right now. "Right. Well, we'll just dig her up, waste her bones and then get the hell out of Dodge."

"M'kay," Sam mumbled.

"Hey. Hey! Oh, no you don't. You sit your ass up and you stay awake. I'm not going to pull up and try to gank her undead ass with you half-asleep. All right?" Sam ignored her brother, keeping her eyes stubbornly shut. Dean reached over and pinched her arm as hard as she could. Sam jumped and opened her eyes.

"Ouch!" Sam scowled at her brother. He drove on, unperturbed.

"C'mon, sit up." Sam rubbed her arm and grumbled crankily, but she listened to her brother and sat up. She did need to stay awake, if she could help it. Sam wasn't going to let her and her exhaustion possibly get her brother injured. She'd never forgive herself if that happened.

* * *

><p><strong>Love! Please leave me some love! Please..?<strong>


	9. Evil Burns

**Hello, chickadees!**

**This chapter's really long! Like, holy crap! I re-read it, and I didn't realize just how long it was. Haha. Hope y'all don't mind!**

**Just one more chapter after this and Relapse is finished. Man, I can't even describe my emotions right now. They're just too intense.**

**As always, I exchange eternal love for some 'love' if you catch my drift. ;)**

**Yours,**

**MD**

**_**_DISCLAIMER:_ _I don't own any part of Supernatural, this is merely a piece of fanfiction. Credit for the show goes to Eric Kripke and all the beautiful writers involved. Bits from the actual episode and a script for the episode that was discarded are used for accuracy purposes only. Enjoy!_**_**

* * *

><p>It wasn't all that hard to find the right house. The old Welch family home was the only one at the end of Breckenridge Road. Clearly the house had not had any occupants since Joseph had left. Several windows were shattered or missing, and the screen door had a couple long tears in it. It was held to the doorframe only by one hinge, and even that looked precarious. Wind and time had eroded most of the paint away from the outside of the house, and the slightest breeze made the house creak in pain.<p>

"Quaint," muttered Sam sardonically, peering out at the old, decrepit house with something akin to disdain. Her nose wrinkled with her dislike for the state of the house. There were probably rats inside. She hated rats. Spiders, snakes, bats, and other critters most people were afraid of didn't bother her so much. But rats… Sam hated rats with a burning, fiery passion. They scratched all over in the walls and were huge and disgusting, not even considering the filth they ate and diseases they carried. Creepy-crawlies and slithery animals? No problem. Rats? Get her a shotgun.

"Yeah, if you're into the whole dead bitch buried in the backyard kinda thing," Dean replied. Sam shoved her door open and got out, following her brother back to the trunk. He rummaged around for a few moments and pulled out a bag of rock salt, gasoline, some matches, and his Colt 1911, which he hooked between the back of his pants and his shirt, hiding it with his jacket. He pointed out the two shovels to Sam, and saw a flashlight which she picked up, just in case. Sam cradled all of this in her left arm and closed up the trunk to the Impala with her right.

The siblings walked in silence to the back of the house, gravel and grass crunching under their heavy boots. Sam felt relieved when she saw the makeshift cross embedded in the ground. Thank God for little miracles. They wouldn't have to spend all night digging up the whole plot. Just dig, salt, burn, Stanford. That's how the rest of Sam's evening was going to go. Hopefully. Maybe. Doubtfully.

Her hairs were already on end and she had the sinking feeling that someone was watching her. Sam refused to look around though. If Constance was around and Sam saw those eyes again, she'd be useless. She shuddered as she remembered the weight of those dead eyes boring into her, driving her life into the ground. No… seeing those eyes wouldn't do her any good.

"Dig in." Dean grinned at his own joke. Sam rolled her eyes, but took up a shovel anyway. The earth gave away easily enough, but digging up a grave was tedious, grimy work, and she hadn't had to do this since before she left for college. Soon enough, Sam's clothes were covered in mud and she'd barely dug two feet under. And dammit, the shit was getting under her nails. Sam hated this part of the job. Honestly, the thought of worms and dirt under her nails grossed her out more than the fact that she was desecrating a grave. Sam recognized that that was something that should morally disturb her, but she had dug up so many bodies to burn at the order of her father or brother that she was completely desensitized to the concept. It was a means to an peaceful end, so, hey, whatever got the job done.

Sam dug about four feet into the ground before she called it quits. Her right shoulder was on fire, and she was pretty sure she'd opened up the wound in her hand again, and her arm muscles were twitching from the force she'd exerted. Sam tossed her shovel out of the hole and hoisted herself up, sitting on the edge and letting her feet dangle down. She started to wipe her hands off on her jeans and looked at Dean, who had been keeping a look out in case Constance decided to visit.

"Your turn." Dean nodded and took off his leather jacket, setting it on the ground next to his sister. He jumped down into the hole and began digging at, admittedly, a much faster pace than Sam had been able to manage. She traded watching her brother dig up Constance's bones for scanning the area around them. It'd be a pain if their little ghostly friend decided to pop in for a visit. Especially since Dean was the one with the firepower, though these bullets that would do nothing against a ghost unless they were made of iron. Unlikely.

A flutter of yellow cloth caught Sam's attention. It had been in a window on the second floor, and only for a moment, but Sam was sure she had seen something. She stood up and left Dean to his work while she walked over to the house, squinting. There was no more cloth lightly blowing in the breeze. Wait, breeze? Sam frowned. There hadn't been a breeze when she'd seen that, had there? She groaned.

"Motherfuck." Sam jogged around the house, but keeping Dean in her line of sight. She peered around the front porch and front yard for anything, focusing on the windows. Constance had to be around here somewhere. Sam frowned and scratched the back of her head when she didn't find anything. She walked back around and looked up at the window. Nothing. Maybe she'd just imagined it then? She _was_ pretty tense, not to mention practically dead on her feet with lack of sleep. It wouldn't be so unreal for her to start seeing things, what with her level of paranoia right now. Ha. Right. If only Sam could convince herself tension and hallucinations is what it had been. The hairs on her neck were still on end, and her arms had goose bumps running up and down them. And Sam _still_ felt like someone was watching her. Her hand flopped down to her side. Dean had done some serious work. He had to be getting close to Constance. The ground was just slightly higher than his head, and her brother was 6'3". No way had Joseph gone deeper than this.

Suddenly this burning fire erupted in Sam's chest, gripping her heart and searing the blood in her veins. Sam dropped to her knees and screamed in pain. Something so red-hot that it felt cold had her heart in a vice grip, squeezing in time to the beat. Sam looked down, trying to repress her screams to groans, but she only half-succeeded and they were left somewhere in between. On her chest, right where her heart was, were five holes burned through her shirt. Another wave of boiling heat forced Sam to fall on her side to the ground. She saw Dean scramble out of the hole, heading for her, concerned. However, he stopped when he saw Constance fading in and out over his sister, her fingers thrust through the holes and into Sam's chest.

Dean whipped out his gun and shot right at her head three times. Constance snapped her head around to glare at him, not relinquishing her hold on Sam. Sam's back arched off the ground a little bit, and she could feel her consciousness fuzzing over. It hurt so much to breathe, but at the same time she couldn't slow down her panting. Her heart began to throb in Constance's grip when Dean shot off three more rounds, this time right into the spirit's face. Constance faded out, apparently having left for the moment. Sam slumped against the ground, panting heavily and gripping her chest. Dean ran over to her and knelt down, touching her shoulder lightly.

"Sammy, you all right?" Dean wasn't even bothering to hide the concern in his voice. Sam heaved her chest with the effort of breathing and covered her face with her arm.

"Go waste this bitch, Dean." Dean laughed out loud at that and squeezed her shoulder a little bit, helping her up when she tried to sit.

"That's my girl." Sam gave a weak smile and Dean jogged back towards the grave site. Truthfully, Sam wasn't really feeling all that great. In fact, she kind of _really_ felt like shit. Her heart was still throbbing, though it was slowly starting to lessen, and when she looked down to her hand she could see blood seeping through her bandage. Dean had just jumped back in the hole when his previously silent Impala flared to life again. Sam whipped her head around. She could just barely see the light from the Impala's headlights around the corner and grimaced. Fucking ghosts, man.

Sam could only imagine the expression on Dean's face in her mind as she stood up shakily. She hugged the wall until she was peering around the corner at the Impala, parked a good distance away. As soon as her eyes got around the corner, the car revved angrily.

"Dean!" Sam yelled back at her brother. "Hurry the fuck up!" With that, the car leapt forward, heading straight to the corner Sam was hiding behind.

'_I don't have the stamina for this shit,'_ Sam grumbled to herself. She took off running away from the house, heading vaguely towards to the barn. The car behind her was, of course, catching up. Sam darted off to her left out of the blue, using her higher agility over the car to buy a few seconds. She was running towards the beginning of Breckenridge Road now, and she heard the Impala's tires screech as it attempted to turn towards Sam too fast. Sam dared a look behind her and, to her dismay, the car was a lot closer than she'd thought it would be. Sam veered off to the left again, this time running parallel to the house.

'_Come _on_ Dean, what the hell is taking so god damned long?'_ Sam growled inside her head. Was Constance going after Dean at the same time? Sam felt cold with dread at that thought. She hadn't even considered that this ghost could be that strong. She had to end this with the car, and fast. She needed to check on Dean, and her chest was starting to burn again, though for a whole different reason this time. Her legs were on fire too, the muscles within screaming in indignation at such abuse. Sam had to end this. Well shit, that meant either totaling the car, or getting it stuck somewhere. Either way, Dean was going to kill her.

Sam took one last left, the car dangerously close now and ran up on the porch and spun around, struggling with the effort to breathe. The Impala fish-tailed until it finally straightened out fifty feet in front of her and stopped. Sam stared at the car, panting, and the car just idled, waiting. For what, Sam wasn't sure, but she knew that's what Constance was doing.

All of a sudden, the car screeched as it came barreling down on Sam. She waited until the last possible second before throwing herself out of the way. The car blasted past her, into the desolated house. Sam covered her head with her arms, feeling several pieces of wood and glass come flying towards her. When all was said and done, she had a few scratches on her arms, but nothing serious. They were just flesh wounds. When the debris stopped flying everywhere Sam peeked out from beneath her arms. The car was sitting halfway inside the house, off, and Constance was standing between where Sam was lying on the ground and the Impala. Her yellow dress blew in a breeze Sam couldn't feel, and they stood there for a few beats, just staring at each other. Her hair was clumped together, greasy and black, and her skin looked like it was made of paper. Like it might break if anything touched it. Her cheeks were sunken in, and her lips looked cracked and dry. Cold dread settled in Sam's stomach as Constance's broken mouth twitched into a mirthless, cruel smile.

"Dean! Any _fucking_ time now!" Sam screamed as loud as she could. Constance took a slow step forward towards Sam. Sam's hair was plastered to her face with sweat and she didn't think she could move anymore. Her energy was too spent, her muscles too sore, for her to run away from Constance. Constance just kept smiling down at Sam, and her skin morphed into something repulsive, almost wraith like. It looked slimy and had a bluish hue to it. Her nails and eyes turned yellow and the smell of something dying made Sam choke. But that smile remained unchanged.

Constance took another step, but never made it farther than that. When her barefoot touched the wooden floor it turned black and hard, like charcoal, and had a slight glow to it, like an dying ember in a campfire. Sam watched, her face in awe, as the blackness crept up her legs and torso. When it reached Constance's hips, she started screaming a blood-curdling, unearthly scream. It was unlike anything Sam had ever heard before and it made her scared shitless. It made her think of death and pain and fear and heartbreak. It made her want to cry herself a lake and bleed people dry. It was heartbreaking, it was terrifying, and it was impossible to listen to any longer. Sam felt like her soul was dying with that scream.

When the blackness had reached the top of her head, Constance crumbled to the porch, finally at rest. Sam let out a heavy breath and let her head fall back to the porch, far beyond exhausted, her eyes drifting closed. Moments later, she heard Dean come running around the corner and quickly crouch down next to her spot on the dusty porch.

"Hey. Sammy, you okay?" She cracked an eye at him before letting it shut again.

"You're getting slow, old man. That took way too long. If you had let her kill me, I would have haunted your ass, Dean." She'd meant it as a joke, but her brother wasn't laughing. He was just silent. Sam forced her protesting eyelids up until she was staring into Dean's hard green eyes. He looked way too serious for his own good, and the grim line of his mouth and tensed muscles in his jaw told Sam that he'd taken her joke a little too literally.

"I never would have let her kill you, idiot. You're a pain in my ass, but I wasn't going to let anything happen to you, Sammy. Jeez." Ah, right, Sam had forgotten about Dean's life-mission to keep her safe. Sure, like any other girl, Sam got the warm and fuzzies when a guy wanted to be her knight-in-shining-armor, but Dean could be a little on the… intense side about it sometimes.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. It was a joke, okay? Now help me up, I can't move." Dean grabbed onto her outstretched hand and gently pulled until Sam was standing up against a part of the house that hadn't been obliterate by his car. Dean walked over to the pile of ash and cocked his head, examining it.

"Ya know, for being out of the game for so long, you weren't half bad." Sam grinned sheepishly and walked over next to her brother. He turned to her. "Nice job, Sammy." He patted her right shoulder before walking over to his car. Patted it a little too hard, actually. It flared up with a twinge of pain for one second before the initial hurt faded to a dull throbbing. Sam laughed in pain and grabbed her shoulder with her left hand.

"Wish I could say the same for _you_. What the hell were you thinking shooting Casper in the face, you freak?" Dean turned and smirked at his younger sister.

"Hey," he said, "saved _your_ ass." When he got to his car he leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees to take in the damage. "And I'll tell you another thing," he chewed out, sounding as pissed as Sam had expected, "if you screwed up my car," he looked at her over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows, "I'll _kill_ you."

* * *

><p>Lucky for Sam, Dean's car was just fine, save for a broken headlight. Let it not be said that Impalas weren't sturdy enough for this life. They had left Jericho a good two hours ago, and Sam sat in the front seat, a few new bandages on her arms added to her collection, with a small flashlight pinned between her shoulder and her cheek. She had it pointing down at a map she had opened in her lap. She was using the coordinates their father had left them to pinpoint where he'd run off to. It didn't take her long before she'd figured it out.<p>

"Okay, here's where Dad went," Sam chirped, keeping her finger on the exact spot where the lines met, "it's called Black Water Ridge, Colorado." Dean chewed on this new bit of information. Sam cocked her head to the side, inspecting the area around her finger for a moment before letting it fall away from the paper.

"Sounds charming. How far?" Sam examined the map and did some quick guesswork in her head.

"About 600 miles." Dean brightened a little at this and glanced over at Sam as they drove down the highway, excited.

"If we shag ass, we can make it by morning." Sam carefully folded up the map and put everything back in the glove compartment. Back in the glove compartment, with the illegal, fake IDs. With the illegal, fake, _government_ IDs. Sam grabbed the flashlight and held it in her hand, facing her brother with a solemn expression.

"Dean, I…" she left her thought unfinished. He looked so hopeful, like he really thought that this one job would suck her back in. It almost did, truth be told. Feelings of nostalgia had crept into her thoughts intermittently throughout these past two days, and it had made her feel a little smug and proud to have duped the police like that at first. It had been really satisfying for Sam to know she had taken part in ridding the world of one less supernatural killer, but to just drop the life she'd built for herself for those few and fleeting moment of satisfaction? Sam just couldn't do that, no matter how much she disappointed her family. She was not going to be manipulated into thinking that she wanted to be a Hunter when she knew that she had the option of a different life. She was going to make her own choices.

The hopefulness in Dean's eyes disappeared at her tone. Clearly, he'd caught on to how Sam felt about coming along with her brother. Her gritted his teeth and gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. He flicked his eyes over to where she sat before stubbornly looking out the windshield once more.

"You're not going." It wasn't phrased as a question because even as Dean said it, Sam knew he knew the answer. Sam sighed sadly and looked down at the flashlight illuminating her hands.

"The interview's in ten hours. I _have_ to be there. I'm barely going to get any sleep as is." Dean looked out his window and shook his head slowly. When he looked out the windshield again, his face was angry and hurt. Sam felt a little guilt in the back of her mind for hurting her brother yet again, but she shoved it down and told it to shut up. She'd known this was going to be uncomfortable the moment she'd agreed to come along. A couple days of adrenaline and excitement weren't going to just erase two years of awkwardness between them. They may have been pretending like everything was fine until now, but that was just what Winchesters did. It was one of the first things their dad had taught them, "Stay strong and bury your problems. It's the only way you live this life".

"Yeah," Dean scoffed, "yeah, whatever. I'll take you home." Sam sat there, awkwardly. Dean's manner made her feel compelled to apologize, but she wasn't sorry for living her own life. She was sorry for taking away her brother's hope, but he should have known that she wouldn't just drop the life she'd built on her own for bad food and ghouls. She wasn't sorry for sticking by her choice, so she wasn't going to apologize. No, Sam opted for clicking the small flashlight off and leaning her head against the window instead.

"Will you wake me up before we get there?" Sam asked softly.

"Yeah. Sure. Whatever." Sam winced a little at Dean gruff voice, but let it slide with silence. She ran towards her impending sleep as fast as her mind could function. Anything to escape this tension.

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><p>When they pulled up to the front of Sam's apartment complex, she was still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Dean parked the car and turned it off and reached to the back seat for Sam's bag. She took it, groggily mumbling her thanks, when he offered her leather knapsack and practically fell out of the car when her door opened. Sam stood up soon enough, though, and stretched her limbs with a groan of pain and pleasure. She was sore in places she hadn't even known existed, but it felt so good to stretch that pain away. Cracking her neck, Sam bent down and looked at her brother through the open passenger window. The pair shared a heavy stare, saying so much with their eyes that they refused to say aloud. Dean, stubborn through and through, was waiting for Sam to be the one to break the silence. He hadn't said a word since he'd woken her up. He hadn't even said anything <em>to<em> wake her up, just shook her until she'd decided to join the living once more. Sam, too tired from the Hunting trip to be as stubborn as her brother, gave him a half-smile.

"You'll call me if you find him?" Dean looked out the windshield and nodded faintly. Still the silent treatment, then. "Maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?" Sam offered this to Dean as a sign of peace. When she'd left for college two years ago, she'd had no further contact with her family and that was that. But they both knew things had changed after this Hunt. Things were different now. Sam didn't want this to be a "goodbye." She wanted it to be an "I'll-see-you-later," and she wanted her brother to know that. Spending all this time with him had made her realize just how much she had missed him.

For all of his over-protectiveness, his relentless teasing, and crude comments, he had always been her best friend. Sam had been able to relate to Dean unlike anyone she'd met at Stanford, and he was the only person that truly understood Sam, with all of her flaws and emotional baggage. He knew the shit she'd gone through and the skeletons in her closet she had to deal with. He was patient with her seemingly random mood swings that her friends just didn't know how to deal with, because he dealt with the same shit she did. And, despite all his bitching and moaning about it, if she had ever _really_ needed her brother to just shut up and let her unload all her emotional crap, that's exactly what he did. Dean was so important to Sam, and this weekend had reminded her of that. She'd thought that her relationship with her brother had been lost, and now that she knew having it back was possible, she was ready to fight for it, tooth and nail. She wasn't so sure about her brother though; yeah, she'd known him better than anyone else, just as he knew her, but she didn't know how much his view of her hand changed over the course of time. For all she knew, he could just say no to be spiteful since she refused to go to Colorado with him.

Dean hesitated before nodding a little harder this time. "Yeah, all right." His voice had been barely audible when he had mumbled his answer, but she'd caught it nonetheless. Sam broke out in a smile. She nodded once at her brother and stood up. She'd walked maybe four steps before she heard her brother's voice again. "Sam!"

Sam stopped and turned, an eyebrow raised in question.

"You know, we made a hell of a team back there." He threw her a cheeky grin, and she was grinning back before she could stop herself. She turned her head away to hide her excitement, but it was useless. He'd seen it anyway. Sam hid her smile away and turned back to Dean.

"Yeah. We did." Sam watched as Dean started up his Impala as pulled it out of park, slowly driving away. She sighed heavily, as her brother drove out of her life once more. She knew she'd see him again, but the occasions would be sporadic, at best. Hunting was a full-time job. He couldn't just put it on pause because he wanted to. The supernatural wasn't going to wait for Dean to do the killing, and Sam knew he would never let anyone innocent die, if he could help it. He'd indicated he wanted to connect with her again, but she had no idea just when that would be.

When she could no longer hear the car, Sam turned back to the front door of her complex. She pulled her keys out of her bag and unlocked the front door. She walked up the stairs, thoughtful, and unlocked her apartment door once she reached it. With this, Samantha Winchester, 22, resident Hunter and killer of all things evil really was buried in the past, and unlike Constance, this was something that was going to _stay_ that way. Sam walked across the threshold with a heavy sigh. Mountains of homework waited for her, along with an intimidating interview in five hours, and a test tomorrow she had no idea how she was going to pass.

Sam smiled. At least Roger was around to keep things exciting.

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><p><strong>Poor Sammy, has absolutely no idea what's waiting for her when she gets to her bedroom. I feel so bad for her.<strong>

**Anyhoo, leave me some love!**

**Much appreciated.**

**Tra!**


	10. Born from the Fire and Flames

**Hello, loves!**

**Alas, all good things must come to an end. A very violent, bloody end for our dear Samantha in this case. Seriously, I feel so bad for the chick. I wish I could have written it some other way, but it was not to be the case.**

**Thank you all so much for following me on this journey. I am in love with writing fanfiction now; it wasn't nearly as scary as I worried it would be. All of those comments and alerts and favorites and everything warmed my heart so much. Into the Nothing, thank you so much for your continued reviews specifically, they really inspired me to write.**

**If anyone has a specific moment or episode they would like to see written with our dear, sweet, sassy Samantha, send me a message, and I will get back to you ASAP!**

**As it stands, I've already gotten the next episode "Wendigo" fleshed out. If I post it, though, I doubt I'm going to name it that. I'll think of something.**

**Thanks for sticking with me!**

**Yours,**

**MD**

**_DISCLAIMER:_ _I don't own any part of Supernatural, this is merely a piece of fanfiction. Credit for the show goes to Eric Kripke and all the beautiful writers involved. Bits from the actual episode and a script for the episode that was discarded are used for accuracy purposes only. Enjoy!_**

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><p>"Roger?" Sam called out into the darkness. "You home?" No response, though this didn't surprise her, really. It was just after four in the morning, her boyfriend was probably asleep. She walked into the dining room and set her bag on the table, along with her set of keys. It felt relieving and disappointing to be home, both for obvious reasons. Relieving to connect with her brother again and finally put her skeletons away for good, but disappointing but her life hadn't been that much since she'd started college. She felt sore, beaten all to Hell, more tired than she could remember being in a long time, and at the end of her ropes. But it felt so satisfying, like coming back from the gym, sweaty and sore.<p>

'_Gonna have to go through withdrawals from that kind of excitement…' _mused Sam. She slipped out of her boots and tossed her jacket on top of the bag. She trudged down the hall, farther back into the apartment and softly creaked open the door to her bedroom. Her bed was empty and she heard the water running in the bathroom on the other of the room. Well, that was a surprise. Why was Roger up so early? Had he been waiting up for her? That made Sam smile. Adorable.

Sam walked to the foot of the bed and hung her head. Her hand was kind of stinging again and her shoulder was stiff, but she hardly noticed. She was home. _Her_ home. What _she chose_ to be her home. Sam told herself she'd made the right choice, and if Dean didn't see it that way, then tough. He could take his assumptions about Sam and what she had to do and shove them right up his ass. Sam would do what _she_ wanted, on her time.

Sam closed her eyes and flopped back on the bed, her hands behind her head and her feet on the ground. It felt so good to just lie there, not having to worry about Constance trying to suck the life right out of her heart, but Sam felt restless now. She should probably get used to this since it would take a long time for her restlessness to fade away while she adjusted to college again. It had only been two days, but it had felt like an eternity to her. So much had happened.

The water in the shower started to die down and Sam sighed comfortably. Roger would walk out any moment and pester her with questions she was too tired to answer. But he would be unrelenting, and then demand to know where she'd gone, why she hadn't told him outright, why she was all scratched up, what had happened to her –

_PLIP._

Something dripped softly onto Sam's forehead. She ignored it. Maybe they had a leaky pipe or she was just imagining things. That was entirely plausible with her mental state right now.

_PLIP._

Sam furrowed her brow. Okay, that definitely hadn't been imagined. She opened her heavy eyelids and looked up at the ceiling. It took a couple seconds for her brain to actually process what she saw, but when she did she was screaming in fear before she even felt the urge. Roger was pinned to the ceiling, unnaturally, like he was lying on the floor. His legs and arms were contorted at unnatural angels. His eyes and mouth were open in shock as he stared down at Sam with a dead gaze. There was a blood staining his whole torso from the giant gash in his stomach. Sam felt sick. She watched on in horror as tendrils of blood coiled out from his wound, past his skin and onto the ceiling behind him. The coils writhed and twisted with a mind all their own as they wove together, stringing together three words.

'_Coming for you.'_

Sam couldn't believe her eyes. All the shit she'd seen in her life, and she absolutely refused to believe her eyes. No, this had to be another nightmare. This couldn't actually be real, this couldn't be happening. She'd had dreams about this, and everyone knew that dreams weren't real. Any second now she'd shoot up in bed, or in Dean's car, sweating and terrified that it was real. But she'd be okay, Roger would be okay… because this was a dream.

"ROGER! NO!" Her shout seemed to ignite some unseen force, and fire burst from Roger's stomach, hissing out of control. It took seconds for the whole ceiling to be enveloped, and just a couple more for the fire to start creeping down her bedroom walls. This couldn't be happening, no, this couldn't be true. Dream, just a dream, she was dreaming. Sam struggled with the urge to puke as the heat started to become unbearable. The skin on her face and arms started tingling with the intensity, but she just couldn't tear her eyes away from Roger's burning corpse. His skin was turning black now, and charring over from the fire. His eyes were still looking at her. Those eyes… those dead unseeing eyes. This time, Sam emptied her stomach over the side of the bed.

Off to her right the door crashed open and Dean stumbled into her room. He took in the fire first, as well as Roger, before looking down to where Sam was on the bed, trying to crawl away from this trauma. She didn't even register his presence. She just kept on yelling out for Roger, in spite of how pointless it was. Dean dashed forward and yanked Sam off the bed by her shirt. She pummeled Dean's chest with her fists, yelling at him to let her go, that she had to go save Roger. Dean didn't lessen his grip in the slightest.

Sam's brother half-wrestled, half-guided his sister to the front door, grabbing the things she'd discarded on the way out. Sam, trying to crawl over Dean's unflinching arm so she could run back to her bedroom and save Roger, gasped as a giant fireball erupted from the room she'd been in only moments before. It writhed down the hallway as it barreled towards the siblings, and when Dean saw it, his action was instantaneous. He shoved her through the door and grabbed her hand, pulling his sister behind him as they dashed down the stairs and out the door to the apartment complex. Sam could have sworn that fireball had laughed at her.

Once they were outside, Dean dropped all of Sam's things and grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket. Still holding onto his sister's hand, he dialed 9-1-1 and called in the fire. He kept throwing anxious looks over to Sam, who stood frozen where they'd stopped outside the apartment complex. Her eyes were glazed and her grip on his hand was unnecessarily hard, like if she didn't hold onto her big brother, she'd be burned away to ashes. Her expression was completely blank, and if it weren't for the tears welling up in her eyes, no one would be able to tell something was wrong with her. Her skin looked pasty and sallow but for a few soot marks on her face, and her bottom lip was trembling ever so slightly. Once Dean hung up he picked up her things he'd dropped on the ground, still holding Sam's hand, and walked across the street and down a ways to the waiting Impala. He threw everything threw on the back bench seat through the open window.

Dean turned around and stared at his sister. Her eyes were glued, unseeing to his chest, but there were tears running down her face now.

"Sam?" Dean prodded softly. No response. Just more tears and more staring. Dean's face grew more concerned. "Samantha?" Her gaze drifted up to meet his at that. Sam blinked.

"Dean?" Sam asked, her voice scratchy but sounding surprised, as if just now noticing his presence. She sniffed, apparently just now realizing she was crying, too. Once she realized that, though, it was like the floodgates opened.

Great, tormented sobs gripped her body as she fell against her brother. She choked and howled, feeling a pain so profound that she wanted to physically shy away from it. Sam felt her brother's arms wrap around her shoulders as he silently held her while she wept. Sam thought of all the times she could have warned Roger, all the times she could have prepared him against everything, and what had she done? Left him defenseless so when that monster came to…

Sam couldn't finish that thought. She just bunched up Dean's clothes tighter in her hands and cried until after she had no more tears left, and all she had to express her pain and sorrow to her brother were the whimpers and cries of the terrified little girl she felt like. She clung to him like a lifeline, tethering herself to someone outside of all this pain she felt. It felt like her heart had been dipped in ice and set on fire at the same time. She felt so hollow and empty, but for the throbbing ache in her chest. Her eyes had long since run out of tears, but that didn't stop her from letting loose her choked sobs and cries. To Dean's credit, he didn't say anything to try and make her stop. He didn't tell her it would be okay, and he didn't tell her that it was all right. They both knew it wasn't okay, and far from all right. He just held her in silence, softly stroking her hair and humming a tuneless song. He'd never had the same talent with words Sam had when it came to emotional issues, so he'd always used touch to express himself. His silent vigil and light but warm embrace told her everything he couldn't say. He was so sorry, he felt guilty for getting her there too later, he was there for her now, he would always protect her. He loved her. That was the biggest thing Dean told her. He loved her more than anyone.

Sam couldn't remember the last time she'd cried against her brother like this. She couldn't remember much of anything past those glazed eyes, and torn skin and curling tendril of blood. God, that fire had been so intense and greedy. She squeezed her eyes shut, and images flashed through her mind. She couldn't tell which of them were memories and which of them were from her dreams. Sam's blood ran cold at that. Her dreams. Oh, Jesus Christ. She'd had _dreams_ about this. Her nightmares had been… real. She should have realized it for what it was, no wonder they'd felt so vivid. She always woke up smelling the burned flesh or feeling the singed flesh. She should have noticed that these nightmares, visions, whatever the hell they were, were trying to tell her that this would actually happen to Roger. Oh God… she'd killed him. She hadn't even meant to and she'd killed him.

A fresh wave of pain pricked her eyes and she started crying all over again, guilt adding to her sorrow this time. Her brother tensed, probably confused by the sudden outburst, but stayed with her all the same. She cried into her brother's chest for her own stupidity, the blood on her hands, the all-consuming sorrow and guilt that pressed into her like dead weight, the oppressive knowledge that she would have to live with this until she died. Sam would have to live with herself when she looked into the mirror now, knowing every time she did that she was staring at the face of someone who had done nothing to stop this. This was all her fault. All her fault. Dear, adorable Roger, and it was _her_ fucking fault.

Eventually, she quieted her second outburst enough that she could pull back and look up at her brother. His green eyes were both worried and grim as they held her gaze. Sam's eyes ran over his barely-there freckles, the stubble he kept to detract from his too-feminine mouth, the bump in his nose he'd gotten when it a ghost had broken it and it hadn't healed quite right. His golden hair that looked more brown than yellow in the night, a small scar her had on his neck from some nameless and long-forgotten Hunt. Sam sighed hopelessly and rested her head against his shoulder, sniffling. She felt so tired. So drained of all energy, and so painstakingly tired. Dean softly pulled her away from him so that he could look down into her eyes.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" Sam flinched. "Physically?" he amended hastily. Sam went over how her body felt for a moment. Nothing really, had changed. Well, her eyes were sore as hell, but that didn't count. Sam shook her head and limply dropped her hands away from Dean, looking down to the ground. He waited a moment before he dropped his arms too. Her shoulders felt colder at the loss of his hands, but she said nothing. Just looked down at her bare feet, trying to find the off switch for her brain.

It was then that a firetruck and ambulance pulled to a screeching halt in front her Sam's complex. A cop car followed soon after. It didn't take long for people to mull out from the complex, some coughing, others just confused. Sam just stood there, staring down at the paved road and Dean's boots. She couldn't bring herself to turn around and look; she felt that if she were to look back, she'd lose it all over again, and she'd had quite enough of crying, thank you. Instead, Sam walked up to the driver's door of her brother's Impala and leaned in. Like she'd thought, the keys were still in the ignition. She pulled them out and walked to the back of the car to open the trunk. Dean watched her silently for a moment, a frown creasing his face, before he slowly walked towards the growing crowd in front of her apartment. Probably going to see if he could pick up any information from the crowd, though honestly, Sam didn't know why. They didn't _need_ any fucking information. They already knew this son of a bitch was supernatural, so what the fuck were they still doing here?

Sam stared down at the weapons and, finally, the rage set in. Her hands began to shake with the force of it, and her breathing grew ragged. Her eyes wandered over all the different knives and guns. So many weapons. So much pain. Nothing would be enough to equal what she felt, but she would fucking try. This motherfuck had ruined her life twice now. It was time for some fucking payback, bitch.

Sam reached out with trembling hands and grabbed a shotgun. She grabbed two rounds from an open box next to where the gun had been lying and loaded them into the gun. She closed it and picked up another. Her mind felt white. White, and hot, and ready to burst. Anger such as this was too heavy for one person to feel, it was pressing Sam into the ground, killing her, but even as it killed her it gave her strength. It gave her ambition. It gave her a fucking purpose. She was on a mission. She had a fucking crusade waiting for her. There was nothing left for her here. That had all been eaten up by the fire. No, her life was on the road now, looking for this sick, twisted… _thing_ so that she could finally get some revenge. All of this firepower, and nothing to use it on. Not yet, anyway, but oh when she found the damn thing. Hell itself would run screaming. She'd make sure of that.

Dean wandered back to where Sam was loading the last shotgun with two more rounds, staring at her face intently. Sam slid the last round into place and looked up in Dean, wordlessly. His mouth pulled down into a frown. He could probably see the change in Sam on her face. Good. Let him see her resolve. If he breathed so much as one word about her needing time or some shit like that, she was going to shoot something.

Sam looked back down at the shotgun and bit back more tears. She'd tried so hard to get away from this, and here she was, loading a weapon like an expert, already relishing in the chase. Sam shook her head and discarded the despair she felt for her situation. She was done with tears. They had done nothing to bring Roger back, and her sorrow didn't feel any less because of them. Just the opposite, actually. Crying forced her to accept that Roger was…. dead. Fat chance of that pretty revelation decreasing her sadness. Dean watched Sam carefully as she snapped the gun shut and threw it onto the pile. Her hands weren't trembling anymore. They were flexing with the need to pound in this dead fuck's face. She didn't care about anything else beyond that. That was the only thing she saw now. After this, well, Sam would deal with that once she got there. But pain… pain was key. Whatever she did to this shit would have to hurt.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but his sister beat him to the punch. Her voice was cold, and unnatural. It held none of the burning rage or crushing sorrow she harbored inside. It sounded too analytical, detached even. It sounded dead.

"We have work to do." Sam slammed the trunk doors shut and left the keys in the lock for her brother. Without another word Sam walked over to the passenger door and crawled in. Black Water Ridge, Colorado, bound, bitches.

Samantha Winchester, age 22, 5'9", brown hair, and hazel blue eyes. Small but toned build, slender nose, rosy cheeks, more freckles than her brother, straight teeth, full lips, and a broken heart. Resident Hunter and killer of all things evil.

END

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><p><strong>And there we have it. It really is over now. Wow... let's just take a moment a savor this, shall we?<strong>

**Any last bits of love you'd like to leave me are appreciated, as always, and I send you barrels of love in exchange!**

**Peace.**

**P.S. I totally changed my mind for who I'm basing Samantha off of, if you want a reference and everything. Instead of Ellen Page I'm thinking that Alexis Bledel would be the better choice. She has a more obvious beauty than Page does, but I think that it's subtle enough that it could work for Sam. Plus, it's easier to believe that Beldel is related to Ackles for me than if my reference choice would be Page. Just FYI, because there will definitely be more "episodes" to come. Thanks so much, everyone!**


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